


The Band of Rotten

by WhoIsThisAgain



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Baylen is Deceit, Logan is a scientist, M/M, Patton is a gunslinger, Remy is a nobleman on the run, Roman is a fugitive, Sanders Sides Adventure AU, Slow Burn, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Virgil is a Victorian English thief, sanders sides au, sanders sides human au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-02-27 14:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoIsThisAgain/pseuds/WhoIsThisAgain
Summary: A stray pirate trapped on land,A gunslinger with a heart,A failed scientist,A fugitive of the Spanish military,A nobleman on the run,and A gentleman thief.Six unlikely misfits were brought together by fate. When they discover a dubious scheme, their lives might be in danger. Their sprouting and vulnerable friendship might be at stake as they fight for their lives. Together, the gang of misfits must band together to defeat the great power of corruption and evil in an adventure like never before.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome!
> 
> This story is written because I never really see this kind of AU (Alternate Universe). Most of the AUs I see are highschool AUs, Coffee shop AUs and all those good stuff. I thought it would be fun to have an Adventure AU once in a while instead of the traditional Fantasy AU.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story, because it is going to be a lot of fun.
> 
> P.S. English isn't my first language, so there might be some mistakes scattered throughout the story. I hope you can still understand the story just fine and please point out the little mistakes, because I really need to improve.

“Where is he?” The man stood over the row of maids, towering over their hunched figures. He slammed the wooden table behind him with force, startling the maids. His voice was dangerously calm as he said, “I ask you one more time, _where is he?_ ”

“I—we do not know where he went. He only—”

“Ah, what did I give you lot a job for?! You were supposed to take care of him!”

“We are very sorry, Master. He only told us he was going on a walk with her. She returned alone, sir.”

“Fine. Get Mr. Vissente and leave us.”

The maids scurried out, racing to get as far away from the furious master. A young man stood by the door calmly, aware of what has transpired inside the room for the last twenty minutes. He wore a thin, dark maroon shirt with a heavy jacket wrapping around his shoulders. The fit of his pants made him appear taller. One of the four maids nodded her head towards the heavy door, and he gave her a nod in return. Stepping inside the room, the soles of his dark shoes tapped on the sleek wooden floor with satisfying clicks.

The big boss was standing on the side of the room, looking solemnly at the gigantic world map that had been posted on the wall. It was so big it resembled a wallpaper. He cleared his throat, announcing his presence in the room.

“No need to do that, Vissente. I know you’re there.”

“So, you know where he is?” He stepped closer, following the master’s eyes. He pondered what the master had in mind. His eyes searched the map for anything interesting and found nothing. “Sir?”

“No, but I have an idea of where he might be heading. I have a simple plan.”

“That is?”

“Let him believe he escaped,” the master said with his deep, velvety voice. He moved away from the wall, sitting on his leather chair by the heavy desk. He looked at Vissente with a stern gaze. “Let him believe he’s gone far and so, we wait.”

“Wait? How are we supposed to do that?”

“What I meant is, _you_ must wait at the place he is currently heading towards.”

“Does this mean you know where he is going?”

“Yes.” The Master, still holding his intense gaze, smirked. His eyes glinted with something akin to danger. Looking back over to the map, he pointed at an unexpected place. “He’s talked a lot about the New World. That’s where he is going.”

Vissente locked his gaze on the map. The New World? That must not be an easy journey. He gave a curt nod, more to reassure himself. The Master has associates in the New World, so it will not be difficult for him to journey there. But for the Young Master, the journey might be a different story. He glanced at the Master, seeing he was entirely serious. _‘Ah, of course. No time for jokes.’_

“You are the youngest of our crew. He doesn’t know who you are, so sending you is the safest option we have, Vissente. Find him and bring him back.”

“Yes, Master. I will not disappoint.”

“You better not, boy.”

Vissente walked towards the door, giving a last nod to the Master before stepping outside. The day was still young. The garden of the mansion was brightly lit, flowers visible from the clear windows along the hallway. It is time to leave.


	2. The Gentleman Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thief is spotted in London.

**England, 1860**

His thin shoes splashed through the muddy, crowded market of London. He quickened his run as he heard loud crashing following his footsteps. He made sure to maintain a strong grip at the satchel slung over his shoulders. The small street ahead was blocked by people and their cursed boxes of withered produce. He managed to jump over three crates of apples, snatching a fruit while doing so. He could hear the men chasing him getting closer, and that was when he found an opening; a narrow alleyway blocked by street vendors. He could slip through easily without anyone noticing.

He moved in an erratic pattern. To the left. Left again. To the right. Jump over. Left again. He tried to confuse his pursuers, and it seemed to be working. His slim figure slipped into the alleyway, running all the way to the back to find a dead end. He took a bite of the apple. It was a little sour, but it had to be good enough. Besides, it was his first bite of food in four days. He dug through the stolen satchel, trying to find any food or money. A few coins and a piece of stale bread—not the best, but not the worst he'd ever had either.

He crouched down, leaning against a wall. He hoped no one was going to find him in here. After his brief meal, he dug through the satchel again trying to find anything else that could be of use to him. He only found empty air. Turning his head to peek through the mouth of the alley, he saw his pursuers running past the alleyway, missing his hunched figure hiding in the shadow. Feeling that he was away from danger at the moment, he slumped against the wall behind him, breathing a sigh of relief—at least for now.

He pressed himself closer to the wall, folding his knees against his chest and resting his chin on them. His bony arms circled around to hug around his legs. He dared himself to close his eyes and for a second, he could relax and feel the blow of the humid air around him, the sound of the crowded market bustling with life and the muddy ground beneath him. He heard a sudden clang, making him jump away. His eyes blew open only to find a grey rat staring at him with a seemingly bewildered expression. It let out a squeak, moving its dirty pink tail slightly. He swatted his hand, so the rat scurried down the tiny sewer drain at one corner of the ground.

He must have stayed there for hours, since the next thing he realized was the street along the market had started to empty. The vendors had packed their items and walk away to their families. Ah yes, families. Virgil didn't know if he ever wanted a family. Clearly, no one wanted him otherwise he would not have end up scavenging and thieving to stay alive. Thrown away as an infant, Virgil knew deep down in his heart that something was perhaps wrong with him. He shook the thought away, finally noticing the chilly bite of the approaching nightfall. He stood slowly, unfolding his aching joints and walking out into the streets once more with hesitance. And there, on one side of the street was one of the few tents still open.

Walking over, he leaned against the wooden support of the standing tent, peeking under the heavy canvas cover. He was greeted with a frown from the girl who tends to the vendor, Tessa. Of course, the two had had their fair share of odd "coincidental" meetings. Virgil was familiar with Tessa's short temper, exploding in bursts. Though she seems kind to other customers.

"What do you want, you rascal? If you try anything, I will have Joseph look for you." Tessa fixed him with a stern gaze, squinting her eyes in an unconscious attempt of intimidation.

"Are you serious?" Virgil slyly reached down, fingers caressing a rotund plum. "You do know I have my ways to get away from these things?"

"Ah, of course," Tessa said, swatting Virgil's filthy hand away from her fruits. "I see that fresh bruise on your shoulder is an evidence of getting away with things?"

"This? Oh, don't be absurd, dear Tess. This is merely an accident."

"Don't you ever call me that again or else—"

"Let me guess, or else you will send your precious brother to find me?" Virgil gave her a challenging smirk. "Isn't it nice to have  _such_  caring family?"

"As a matter of fact, it is. Unlike you, always alone."

Virgil held his smirk, though it threatened to fall. He moved away from the tent pole, standing next to the girl. He looked down on her sitting figure carefully and his smirk deepened. He made a show of brushing away the remnants of dried mud from his saggy pants and off-white tunic, letting out a casual sigh.

"Well, dear Tess, that's Virgil Shaw for you." Virgil bit a plum which had suddenly appeared in his hand seemingly out of thin air. He smiled innocently at Tessa who stared at him, speechless. "I do hope to see you again tomorrow. Your fruits do give me the highest of joy."

He walked away quickly with a satisfied smirk, biting his plum again. It really was delicious. He tossed the intricately carved pocket watch which he had taken from Tessa's modest purse, testing its weight. You see, after being in the streets for years, stealing and the trick of hands come as a second nature. It becomes something almost as familiar as breathing, walking and living. Because that's what thievery was for Virgil; living. He could take without seeing, trick without thinking.

He moved quietly through the empty market. The lamps by the side of the streets were already lit, the fire dancing along with the wind that blew over it as it tried to force the fire to bow. He passed through a cart of folded coats, ready for tomorrow's sale. Slipping his hand as he walked, he pulled one and hid it under his tunic. His steps carried him to the edge of the city where he finds his safety every night. He found his favorite tree that stood tall among bushes and grass—the perfect cover from the elements of mother nature. He took the coat from under his tunic, admiring its thick material—soft and heavy, framing his shoulders excellently. The hood, lined with thin velvet, was perfect to conceal himself.

He climbed the tree with ease, steeping on branch by branch until he reached a comfortable height. He leaned back against the rough trunk, fingers feeling the texture of the bark which brought him much comfort. He pulled the hood of the coat up, hiding his face altogether. It had been a while since he had clean clothes. His old tunic had smelled as rotten as a dead fish and its thin, sack-like material had tear at the seams here and there. The coat was a big help in warding off the cold.

His thoughts wandered off a continent over. What would it be like if he had a different fate? He pushed his head back against the trunk, looking at the evening sky through the cracks between the thick foliages of leaves.

"How would that be like?" Virgil mumbled to himself, picking at the dirt under his nails. "What would a good life look like? Oh, I will have enough food for myself, perhaps even a roof to live under. A mere hut would be enough for me."

He remembered being in the orphanage. There were children his age there, too. They didn't seem to want to even try approaching him as if he was a disease. He tried, he really did, but they didn't want any of it. He didn't know his own last name, so he gave one to himself; a name taken from a tombstone he once saw as a child at the graveyard near the orphanage. He couldn't help but think how absurd it all seems that even his name was stolen.

In the orphanage, life was not easy, as odd as that sounds. There was a gang of children dominating the place, led by a seven-year-old boy, Huw Davies. Virgil remember himself being a frightened five-year-old cornered into a wall as the other children kick and punch and kick and punch. Mrs. Brookes, the lady who owned the orphanage, always came to help him. She was the only person who treated him kindly as if he was her own son. He had thought he might even loved her. She always knew when something was wrong, as if her brain was wired to his. He often asked the kind lady if she knew what happened to his parents or why he was left alone. Mrs. Brookes didn't seem to have an answer, so after asking a million times he stopped.

The memories he had of his childhood were a blur. Some were fractured and distant, as if he was watching the memories instead of reliving them. Though of course, he could still remember all the pain, fear and anguish he felt. He had, of course, tried to forget them and at times it worked. He wouldn't think of any of his old wounds—he wouldn't even think of Mrs. Brookes. But he would always be reminded of his past when he saw something, like a child with a toy or perhaps even men with ropes.

"Hey!"A voice was heard under the tree. Looking down, Virgil saw a man with a dark coat. His eyes were framed with thick glasses and his black hair swept back neatly. He had a leather briefcase in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. "Sir, you up there. I am sorry to interrupt your evening, but I require your assistance."

"Who are you?" Virgil set his back straight, asking the stranger with an accusing tone. "What do you want?"

"I seem to be lost. I am supposed to be at Dower Street. Could you help me find it? This map I have does not seem to help."

Virgil noticed the unfamiliar accent, raising his suspicion. He squinted, trying to get a better look of the man from the height of the tree. A brilliant idea popped into his mind. He made sure he had his knife in the pocket of his pants, carefully climbing down the tree with as much ease as he did climbing up. He tested his footing on the ground if in any case he had to run and resting his hand on his pocket, tracing over the outline of his knife.

"Help you with what?"

"I'm lost. I do not know how to navigate around the city."

"Huh," Virgil huffed, pretending to take a look of the stranger's map. "Newcomer, huh? Erm—welcome to Britain. I assume it's your first time here?"

"Yes. I came for study."

"Let's see... you want to go straight ahead on this street—" Virgil pointed at the street nearest to them— "and take a right turn by the intersection. You should arrive at Blake Street. Turn left next to a shoemaker's shop called  _Louis' Shine._ "

"Thank you very much. That was very helpful."

"Oh, and a word of advice, mate."

"Yes?"

With a smirk, Virgil winked at the stranger with feet ready to dash. "Watch out for thieves."

A second later, the stranger was chasing him down the street. Really, he was following his briefcase more than following the thief, but catching the thief would certainly help. Virgil dashed through the vacant streets, swerving through a huddle of children still playing and running outside. He toppled over a drum of wine in the hopes of distracting the stranger, causing its owner to shout at him as he passed. He continued running deeper into the city with the stranger at his heels. This seemed to have been a mistake as he saw what was waiting for him up ahead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you guys think about Virgil's character? His backstory is going to be revealed later as we go deeper into the story, so don't worry, we'll get there eventually. I listed the other characters in the synopsis of the story, so if you want to have a guess, you can do that.
> 
> That's it for now, I hope this was an exciting enough beginning to this story.


	3. The Stray Pirate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pirate on land? Sounds odd, doesn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't as intense as the previous chapter, but I promise the next one will be fun.
> 
> Also, if anyone is confused: yes, Baylen is Deceit.

**France, 1860**

He woke up with a groan, the sun already starting to bake his face. He had taken off his eye-patch in favor of the dirty, off-white fabric that he’d tear from the sleeve of his tunic. He hid his trusty eye-patch in the folds of his loose pants in the hopes of avoiding suspicion. No one wants to deal with a pirate—and it’s especially suspicious when you find one wandering around on land. He strolled down the small dirt pathway in the fisherman town, heading away from the coast.

As he reached a plateau a distance away from the coast, he could see a speck off to the ocean, not too far from land. It was his ship, _Le Destin Doré,_ with her sails drawn. For the inexperienced, the ship looks more like a merchant ship than a pirate ship. It was his work a few years ago, inventing a way to disguise the ship to make it look less suspicious—pirating and raiding becomes easier that way. It was quite a misfortune that he had to leave the ship alone, though one might say it was his own fault. He didn’t fuss about it much—he knew he could get her back.

From the elevated ground of the hill, the view of a fisherman town brought back bittersweet memories of the past. The beach had always been his favorite place when he was younger. But having known the rage of the ocean, he thought the sea was a bigger wonder than a mere beach. He paid attention to the fishing boats docked at the port after two months at sea. Children were running on the sand, spilling with laughter and joy. He couldn’t imagine himself ever being that small and cheerful. Looking the other way, he ventured deeper into the town, the sight of the sea finally retreating into the horizon.

After a few hours, the sun was getting higher as it approached midday. His stomach was empty and his throat rough as the sand. It was a shame that he had to leave the ship in such a haste that he didn’t have time to acquire provision. So, looking down at a small muddy puddle, he looked down at his reflection, trying to make himself more presentable. He swiped the remnants of dirt on his neck and fixed the sheet covering his eye to look neater. After that, it was not a difficult job to get food and water.

“Excuse me, _madmoizelle._ ” He attracted the attention of a young girl who was sitting on the small porch of her house. He gave her a small, shy smile which seemed to have charmed her. “Um, I am not from around here and I seem to have lost my way. Would you mind giving me a little water? I have not another provision left.”

“Oh, of course.” She smiled in return, a bloom of pink coloring her face. “Would you need anything else?”

“Uh, no, no. No, thank you. I didn’t want to be too troublesome. Just the water is fine.”

“Nonsense! I’ll see what I can get you.”

As she retreated into the small house, he congratulated himself. The girl returned with a big ale-mug of water and half a loaf of fresh bread. She handed him the mug which he accepted gratefully, though with a little confusion.

“Why the mug? You don’t seem like someone who drinks.”

“It’s father’s,” She answered with another smile. “He’s a big, burly man with a big appetite, which means a lot of food and ale. He’s out on sea now, so I don’t suppose he would mind you borrowing his precious mug.”

“Well, your father sounds like a delight.” He gulped the water quickly, quenching his thirst. “Thank you for your kindness, I better get going.”

“Wait, mother had just finished baking and we seem to have some left over. Here, have some.”

“Why, thank you.” He gave her the sweetest smile and nodded.

As soon as he turned his back, his smile dropped. He let out a sigh, looking down at the paper-wrapped bread. He walked faster towards the center of the town, not knowing what he intended to do. As he trudged further, his mind wandered to the past, but his thoughts didn’t linger for long. In the middle of the small town was a statue of a swordfish, body contorted as if breaching out of the water. The statue was surrounded by shallow flower beds that burst with colors. He passed it with a sigh, going even further. He knew not where he was going.

Noticing the houses only becoming denser as the town becomes more packed, he backtracked as he wanted to avoid any human contact. His half-covered face had turned many eyes—he didn’t need to raise more suspicion. Under the shelter of a short-but-thick tree, he revealed a yellowing paper from under the folds of his pants. It had minute tears at the edges, though other than that it was in a good condition. The paper, a map, was given to him years ago and it was meant to be seen only by his eyes. He did not trust anyone with his secret, not even his closest allies on the ship.

There were scribbles written on the back of the map. Throughout the years, he’d collected clues that will lead him closer to what he sought. For now, the search will have to stop. He tucked the paper back under the folds of fabric and rested himself against the tree behind him. The bread on his lap was no longer warm. He tore a generous chunk, finally filling his empty stomach. Children were running around, bare feet on the cold stone pavement that was clouded with mud and dust.

Evening came surprisingly early—at least it _felt_ like it came early for Baylen since he woke just before midday. He stuffed the leftover bread under his shirt that was tucked into his pants and climbed the tree, not going too high up. He could see the sea in the distance as sunset painted the sky with its golden hues. He basked in the warmth of the setting red sun. His skin was tan after spending half his life in the open ocean. Baylen had always loved the sea. He loved the calming vast blue or the wild waves during a storm. When he was little, he would charge into the ocean, unafraid of the deep even when it was dark.

Soon, the sun plunged under the horizon, leaving traces of purples and pinks that shifted to dark blue and black. The moon claimed the sun’s throne, a dim glowing light in the dark. It slowly rose higher in the sky, casting dull shadows around the town. As the night crawled and the darkness became darker somehow, Baylen decided to take another walk, perhaps to the other side of town. He didn’t know quite exactly what he intended to do, but as a stray pirate on land he thought he deserved to feel a little confused and out of place. Children were no longer in the streets. He could see the yellow lights of candles through dirty windows where people sit inside in warmth, sharing stories and laughter.

A crack. Someone is out here hiding in the darkness. He looked around in caution, fingers unconsciously reaching for his covered eye. He walked again, but the rustling became much louder. Again, he stopped. After seeing there was no danger, he continued his silent stroll. There was a subtle glint in his field of vision, and before he could do anything a knife was placed against his throat.

“Do not… come any closer,” the voice said firmly, though Baylen could hear an underlying tremor. He could only see the hand holding the knife under the dim moonlight—not even the outline of the figure was visible in the shadows. “Another step and—”

“Um, excuse me, but I did not have any intention to harm anyone.” Baylen leaned his weight on his side, speaking nonchalantly. “So, if you don’t mind. Put your knife away, and I’ll be on my way.”

The voice remained silent before it spoke again. “Was that a trick?”

“Alright, sir, I apologize. That was an odd, if not _idiotic,_ question.” Baylen continued despite the offended gasp he could hear. “If it _was_ a trick why would I tell you? And why would I trick you for?”

“So… you’re not trying to rob me?”

“What do y—of course not. What do I look like to you? A pirate?”

The man, at last, stepped out of the cover of shadows. He wore a simple white, long-sleeved tunic and dark fitted pants. His shoes were perfectly polished aside from some stray dust. His auburn hair was mussed, framing his oval face perfectly. This man was no townsfolk. Baylen stepped back, flitting his eyes up and down the figure standing before him. Quite the handsome fellow.

“You’re not from around here,” Baylen said, words sounding more like a statement than a question. He was met with silence and a sharp glare. The small knife was no longer pressed against his neck, but the man still held it in his hand. “You look a little out of place.”

“Who I am and where I am from are not your business.”

“Ah, and your French sounds odd, too. Not unacceptably odd, only that you do not sound like any Frenchman I know. From out of town perhaps? Or even out of the country?”

“That’s enough.”

Baylen noted the way the stranger fidgeted his free hand by pulling on his trousers and the way his eyes shifted with uncertainty. Something was not right, but Baylen wasn’t bothered to find out what it was. If he were to help this stranger, he could gain an ally—perhaps. He offered the paper parcel of bread he had to the stranger, not saying a word. Seeing the stranger frown at his offering, he sighed.

“My name is Baylen Delacroix. And you can put away the knife now.” He ripped a piece of bread and shoved it into his mouth. “And you are?”

“Um… why would I tell you?” The stranger seemed to be cautious, albeit a little confused.

“You seem lost. You don’t know where you are going, do you?”

“Uh… what do you know abo—”

“I would like to help.”

The stranger’s eyes softened in surprise before leveling him with another glare. He had to be careful who he trusts. “Why?” He asked, doubt shrouding his voice.

“Because I need your help as well.”

Silence. Such a shame it was dark. Baylen thought he could have admired this attractive stranger in the daylight much more easily. The stranger nodded a few times, finally slipping the knife back into its small leather casing attached to his belt. He eyed the piece of bread in Baylen’s hand, silently regretting his decision to reject the offering earlier. Baylen walked past him, fully expecting him to follow. He walked quickly, keeping his pace to catch up with Baylen.

“I—uh, I apologize for being rude. I wasn’t—”

“No need. Nothing unusual for me.”

“I’m… I’m Remedio Arlotti. Or—or just Remy for short.”

“Well, Remy, you seem tense.” Baylen halted his steps. “What can I help you with? Remember you still have to do me a favor if I were to help you.”

“Alright then,” Remy said with slight hesitation. “Have you ever heard of America?”

“Yes.”

“I need to go there. Why I need to go is nothing for you to worry.”

“Excellent!” Baylen exclaimed with a smile. This could be a profitable opportunity.

“What?”

“I am the captain of a ship. Unfortunately, a band of pirates have captured my ship and now I am stranded here with no crew.” Baylen started spinning a small tale of lies. It was preposterous for him to ever admit to his true identity. Not if he could help it. “My ship is still here, not too far from the coast, because those pirates are stupid enough not to go into the open ocean once they steal a ship. That is unfortunate for them, but fortunate for us.”

“Us?”

“Yes! You are helping me get my ship back and I will sail you to America.”

“I—wait, you are a sailor?”

“Yes. I thought that was quite obvious from my explanation.” Baylen was about to say something else when something in his mind clicked. “Could you tell me your name again? It sounds… familiar…”

“No,” Remy let out a nervous chuckle, eyes shining with worry. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

Baylen squinted his eyes, looking at the man standing before him with curiosity. He could have sworn he’d heard that name somewhere. But that was a topic to dwell on at another time. They were now a distance away from the beach. The view of the ocean was not visible, covered by simple brick houses, but the smell of the sea still lingered. They walked to the edge of town, finding a shelter under an abandoned shed which had started to rot in some places.

Baylen found comfort, leaning against one side of the wooden wall while Remy remained standing, cringing in disgust at the rotten patches of wood. He finally sat gingerly on the other side of the small shed, trying his best not to touch anything. He didn’t seem to notice Baylen’s eye watching him with careful attention. Remy tapped his fingers on his knees with discomfort and agitation. He didn’t know whether he was making the right decision by being here. He contemplated on going back, beg for forgiveness. Yet he knew that wasn’t what he wanted. He wasn’t happy before, so why would going back now be any different?

“So, uh…” His voice echoed in the tiny room, gaining Baylen’s attention. “How do you suppose we’re going to get your ship?”

“I haven’t had a plan. I thought we could use you as a bait.”

“You’re using _me_ as a bait? Uh, _excuse_ me, but I don’t want to die!”

“Listen, you’re not going to get a scratch under my watch. They know me—I mean, they would recognize my face—so sending you would be our better option.”

“What?! Are you ins—”

“Hey, sailing to America is no easy task! If you want me to help you, then you will have to help me get my ship. Without a ship, we can’t sail.”

There was silence, _again._ This would be difficult to say the least. Considering the size of a pirate crew, they would be facing up to thirty men. They were vastly outnumbered. Remy didn’t understand what Baylen meant by using him as a bait. All he knew about pirates, none of them are loyal which means using one member of the crew as a leverage would be out of the question.

“How about we get the townspeople to help us, too?”

“How do you mean?” Baylen asked, unsettled.

“Well, if we warn the people there was a ship stolen, they might be willing to help since this is still their waters after all.”

“Ah, no, no. We cannot do that.” Baylen was alarmed by the suggestion. If the people notice the name printed on the side of the ship, his cover would be blown. His pirate ship was quite notorious along the coast of France, which means _his_ name as the captain was, too. “That would not do.”

“Why not? Considering a pirate crew would have more than thirty people, the two of us won’t stand a chance.”

“No, this pirate crew isn’t too big. Twenty people at most.”

“Where is your sailor team?”

“There were only five of us against all twenty of them. They were killed. I was the only one who managed to escape.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. Is that what cause the injury on your face?”

Baylen raised his hand against his face. The wound that blinded his eye had long healed. He didn’t care about being blind or missing an eye, but he didn’t want to raise suspicion when he came to shore. He shook his head, answering Remy’s question.

“I have an idea,” Baylen said somberly. “Are you practiced in sword fighting?”

“I know how to fence…”

“Good enough.” Baylen rested his head against the wooden wall, closing his eye to rest. Just as his mind started to wander, he snapped his eyes open. “Oh, I _do_ know you!”

“No, you don’t.” Remy said, defensive.

“Yes, I’ve heard of you before. That explains why your French sounds so foreign to me. French isn’t even your mother tongue, is it?”

“Please, don’t say anything else.”

“You’re a—”

“I won’t help you then?” Remy raised an eyebrow in challenge. His heart was thundering in his chest. He should never have told the sailor his name. Baylen was staring at him with an amused expression.

“Alright, _m’lord,_ ” Baylen said mockingly, turning away with a smirk. “Sleep well, because we are getting you to America tomorrow.”

Remy let out an exasperated sigh. This is going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! I am back with another chapter and this was surprisingly challenging to write. I needed to reveal the individual characterization without going into too much details about them (which is what I tend to do with my other writings). I went a different route this time, showing characterization through dialogues. So, I'm sorry there is so much dialogue in this chapter. Oh, also, let me know what you think of the pacing of the story. I thought it's a little too fast.
> 
> Now, questions:  
> 1\. Why do you think Baylen had to leave his pirate crew?  
> 2\. What do you think of Remy? He's a lot more serious than most other portrayal of him. But since this is set in 1860s, I will have to reveal his sassiness some other way (stay tuned for that, because it's really interesting).  
> \---  
> Frenchy French:  
> Le Destin Doré  
> [The Golden Destiny] - the name of Baylen's ship.
> 
> madmoizelle  
> [miss; young lady]  
> \---
> 
> That's it from me for now. See you in the next one!


	4. The Lost Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan tried to get his briefcase back after it was stolen. From there, the two surprisingly came to an agreement. An interesting agreement.

**England 1860**

He ran past through the crowd, jostling through shoulders in the packed City of London. It was rather fortunate his briefcase was not stolen in the middle of the city as it would be more crowded. Then it would be nigh impossible to keep the thief in his sight. He jumped over the drum of wine toppled before him and managed to gain balance before his shoes slip on the muddy street. From the distance, he could hear the cheer of a woman.

“Yes! Get that rascal!” the woman yelled as he rushed past.

Logan had always been a fast runner. His gaits were longer than most people, which made sense considering the fact that he towered over most people he knew. Even so, people back home never cared. He held on to his hat as he jumped over another toppled drum, finally starting to catch up with the tricky thief. That briefcase was his whole life. He had nothing else aside from his work—which he desperately needed if he ever wanted to find a job in Britain.

He quickly realized the thief’s mistake of wandering into the city. There were a few policemen on patrol, so the thief halted in his step for a split second before sharply turning left. This seemed to be another mistake as he was now faced with tightly knit houses with only a few meters of gap between them. Logan followed the thief into the narrow pathway until they were trapped in a dead-end.

“There is no way out,” Logan said as he drew a deep breath. He blocked the exit way with his body, trapping the thief in the back of the alley. “You will give me my briefcase, or I will go back and report you to the authority.”

“Mate, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Why not? Theft is illegal. And by your speed and skill with slight of hand, you must have been a thief for a long time. And seeing you have made the mistake of going into the city where the police would patrol, as well as trapping yourself in this alleyway, I would assume your territory of theft is in the outskirts of the city rather than inside.” Logan rambled on, observing the thief standing nervously in front of him. “You do seem to have adequate knowledge of ways inside the city—as you gave me directions earlier—so you must be _from_ this very city. Familiarity does not come in an instant.”

The thief rolled his eyes in a show of nonchalance, though his mind was drenched with anxiety. Who _is_ this man that he knew details of his thieving? He could imagine someone creating a detective-type character based off of this man. His name would be something weird and unusual, like… Sherlock Holmes or something of the like. He still had an iron grip on the man’s briefcase, sweat starting to form under his palm with how severe his grip was. Keeping an eye-contact with the man, he opened the clasps which kept the briefcase sealed and flipped the leather flap open.

“Hey! Do not touch anything in there,” Logan barked in an attempt to stop the thief to stop. He could have wrestled the briefcase out of the thief’s hand, but seeing an outline of a knife through the thin fabric of his pants, Logan couldn’t risk his own safety. At the same time, he didn’t want any amount of his work to be destroyed by accident by a filthy thief. “Stop, or I will shout.”

“Alright, alright!” Still, the thief looked down into the briefcase to see nothing but papers. He sighed in disappointment upon finding no money or food. “What are these papers? An intellectual, aren’t you?”

“That is, I believe, none of your business. Now please give that back to me.”

“Oh dear, no one has ever spoken politely to a simple thief such as I,” the thief spoke mockingly with an easy smirk. To Logan’s surprise, the thief held his briefcase for him to take.

“You’re just going to give that back? This seems a little too easy.”

“Alright, do you want me to make it difficult, mate?”

Sighing, Logan squinted his eyes with uncertainty and took his briefcase back. He had to restrain himself from clutching the briefcase against his chest dramatically and perhaps rock it like a baby a few times. He straightened his posture, observing the delinquent in front of him with distrust. Turning his back, he took careful steps, mindful of the small-but-deep puddles scattered throughout the small pathway leading out to the main street. Everyone seem to have already forgotten the ruckus about a thief who had just dashed through the street as everyone seem to be behaving normally.

Looking back, he saw the thief trailing along behind him. Logan paid him no attention as he walked down the street, looking left and right for any policeman in patrol. When he saw a man with a police uniform, he raised a hand, ready to call out when suddenly he was pushed harshly against a wall. His head hit the rough brick wall, though not hard enough that he lost consciousness. A hand was placed against his mouth—and it smelled rotten.

“What did I say about not calling the police?”

Logan ripped the smelly hand off his face, breathing in the polluted London air. “Well, there’s no reason _not_ to report a criminal like yourself.”

“Ah, ah, you don’t have a rule over me. I know what you are. So many stories of people like you around the city.” The thief glanced down at the briefcase—now clutched protectively in Logan’s arm. “What are you? A scholar? Scientist? Some sort of… _intellectual?_ ”

“It is none of your business to know.”

“Oh, right. You’re definitely not from around here, so you must be looking for something here, right?” The thief took a step back, making a show of looking at the smartly dressed man from his hair down to his toes. “What is it? An opportunity, maybe? Perhaps you haven’t had the chance to make a name for yourself where you came from, so you came here. London _is_ known to be full opportunity after all. Looking for work? Study?”

“That’s enough. I have no time to waste talking to a lowly thief.”

Logan shoved past the thief, walking away from the center of the city. He had heard of a scientist residing in London. His old teacher back home had told him of having a job as an astronomer in a lab in London. From there, he took what remained of his money and sailed to England, leaving everything he knew behind. Lucky he had had the chance and intellect to study multiple languages when he was still in school. Surviving in this new city shouldn’t be too difficult.

“Hey!” The thief called out. Logan took a deep breath as he heard the splashes of puddles behind him getting closer. “Listen, smarty, you know—”

“What do you want? You saw in my bag I have no food or money, so I suggest we move on with our lives,” Logan said with a stern look. “Oh, apologies, you don’t have one.”

“Alright, no need to be rude. What place are you looking for?”

Knowing the young thief standing in front of him will not leave, Logan chose to answer. He closed his eyes in contemplation for a second, wondering how he got so tied up with _a thief._

“I’m looking for Professor Alan Bennett. An astronomer, I believe.”

“Oh, oh I know him. Stole a lot from him. Old man never finds out, though. I imagine some of his telescopes have no glass now.”

“You—why steal the glass? Stealing the whole telescope is far more valuable. Those things cost a lot of money.”

“Now _that’s_ an idea.”

“Alright, where does the professor live?”

“The graveyard. He died two years ago. Some accident with a horse or something.”

Logan looked at the thief in shock. His face went pale as he sucked a deep breath, trying to keep calm. He had left everything he knew back home. He had no more money to travel back, and his only hope was to find the professor—who was dead. It was useless now. He couldn’t do anything else. All those studies he had taken with his father’s money were wasted. Where else was he supposed to look? _‘This is the truest meaning of doom,’_ Logan thought to himself.

“Um, are you sure about that? Surely, he’s not dead.”

“Mate, I saw his tattered body after he was hit by a horse. You want to bet?”

With a groan, he placed a hand on his head in despair. There was nothing left he could do. _‘This is bad, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad, this is—’_

“Alright, mate, let me interrupt you before you turn into a machine that could only spew out the words ‘this is bad’ over and over. Allow me to inform you of—”

“I said that out loud?”

“Uh, yes. How can you possibly not notice that? And  _a_ _s_ I was saying, have you ever heard of America?”

“Yes, I have. What does that have anything to do with this?”

“Well, I heard from some people around here who’ve been to America. They say the New World has new opportunities. Particularly with business and perhaps even studies.”

“While it does sound like a good idea,” Logan said with distress in his eyes, “I do not have enough money to journey there. I must stay here and do what I can.”

“Name’s Virgil. I have an idea on how to go to America.”

The thief—Virgil—turn his back and walked back towards a less crowded area of the city. It was quite a wonder how people inside the city were still bustling with life while other parts of the city seem dead. Logan followed the little thief, trailing behind him cluelessly as a lost dog would. He couldn’t trust this Virgil fellow, but it’s a start. America was once a colony. The country is nothing powerful, but the land is vast and holds new beginnings for people. His own aunt had gone to America before, never coming back. Though she still wrote to his mother every few months, but she was never heard from again after three years. Perhaps she became too busy.

“How much money do you have?” Virgil asked with glistening curiosity. Logan only squinted his eyes before pulling his wallet from the back pocket of his briefcase. “Oh, should’ve checked there before.”

“As I said, I don’t have money enough to go anywhere too far.”

“Do you have enough to sail across the channel?”

“The channel?”

“Yes. The English channel. Sailing to America from France is cheaper.”

“And how do you know this?”

“You see,” Virgil started, “thieving has a lot of quirks. You get to eavesdrop on merchants planning their sailing routes.”

“You steal from merchants?” Logan asked, appalled and amazed at the same time. “Quite bold.”

They continued their walk through the dead streets of the city. There, they sat below Virgil’s tree. The cool breeze of the night felt colder with no one around them. Virgil wrapped his stolen coat tighter around his skinny frame, trying to ward off the cold. Having been living on the streets for years he should be used to cold weathers, but that wasn’t the case. He had always hated the cold. Winters have to be the worse time of year, what without having a shelter. Especially during snow storms. It was a wonder he was still alive at all. Usually, he would hide near the warm walls of factories around the city. It wasn’t easy to find a spot, but once he find one, it would be his home for the next three or four months. He looked over at the man sitting next to him. He never did say his name.

“What do they call you?”

“Logan. Logan Kosko.”

“Where from?”

“Parga,” Logan answered with sentiment—to which he grimaced. “That’s in Greece, if you didn’t know.”

“Well, Logan from Parga, do you want to go to America?”

“I thought it was obvious I do.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“First of all, no. Second of all, I don’t have enough money for both of us. And third, also no.”

“Don’t worry about money. I’ll get some.”

“How are you goi—of course. You really should fix your moral compass, Virgil.”

“Now, go to sleep.” Virgil climbed the tree with ease, settling on the thick branch he had laid on not an hour ago. “Find somewhere comfortable. That bush will do,” Virgil said, pointing at a thick bush a few steps away from the tree.

Logan sighed, walking towards the bush without a word. He kicked it around, trying to get one side to be flat for him to lay on. The thin branches and rough leaves did not provide comfort at the least. He had hoped he could find a lodging, but he needed the money for travel. Of course he had a reason to go to America, but what reason did Virgil have? He didn’t need to be weighed down by a stranger—a thief, no less. He could see Virgil’s faint silhouette in the dark, lying on the branch seemingly asleep. It wasn’t easy for Logan to just fall asleep. He felt a sharp sting in his chest. He longed for his mother, but she cannot be with him anymore. Nor his father. Putting his briefcase under his head as a pillow, he tried to get comfortable to no avail. The leaves and thin branches brushed at his neck uncomfortably, leaving a trail of itch.

As much as he was suspicious about Virgil, he can see that having the little thief on his journey to America might be useful. He could see that Virgil, while uneducated and rude, was not a stupid fellow. He had his tricks and ideas. Besides, his skills in thieving may prove to be handy—not that that’s important. When morning comes, there will be things to do. The day will be busy. He wondered what Virgil had in mind when he said “sailing to America.” It seemed he wasn’t the only one with a goal in mind. He took his hat off, putting it over his face.  After hours of tossing around, he finally slipped into a restless slumber.

 

* * *

 

There was a buzz—sometimes loud before going away and coming back again. He swiped his hand over his ear, trying to get the annoying buzz away only for it to come back stronger than before. He swiped again. The buzz came back. He finally opened his eyes, closing them again when the sun pierced through his vision. He groaned, sitting up and slowly opening his eyes again. The buzzing by his ear was louder than before. He turned, looking for the source of its annoying sound, finding a bee right by his face. He jolted up to stand with a yelp only to stumble his feet on the tangles of leaves and branches by his feet.

“Very graceful, smarty.”

He looked up to see Virgil leaning on the tree with two apples in his hands. Retrieving his hat, Logan slowly stood up, rubbing his aching neck. He tried to retain what amount of dignity he had left after falling flat on his face. In the morning light, Virgil looked a lot dirtier than he remembered last night. His cheek held a trace of dirt while his tunic and pants were splattered with mud—some dry, some not. His shoes were grey with dust and mud. The coat was the only thing clean he could see.

“I brought breakfast.” Virgil threw him an apple. “We still have to walk for around two hours. That’s where the port is. Start walking, smarty.”

Logan trailed behind Virgil as they walked around a crowded and bustling market. The tree was no longer visible, only a speck in the distance, covered by tents and buildings. They walked quickly at the edges of the street, close by the tents. He observed Virgil from the back, seeing how his slim figure moved gracefully through the crowd while Logan himself was struggling to remain on his feet among a sea of people. He wiped the apple Virgil had given him on his coat, making sure it was clear of dirt. It was sweet and perfectly juicy.

After they had been out of the marketplace, Virgil held a map in front of him for Logan to take—undoubtedly stolen. He had another apple in his hand which amazed Logan—he didn’t remember seeing Virgil swipe an apple from a stand. He took the map, opening it to see.

“We should be outside the city in another hour or so, judging by the distance,” He said. “Your estimation of two hours was inaccurate.”

“So, how long?”

“About three more hours of walking…”

“Great. Let’s get provision.”

“I’m not letting you steal again.”

Virgil shrugged, turning away. “Then I guess you’ll be miserable for the next three hours.”

Logan folded the map in a haste. He frowned and groaned, pulling his hat down over his face to shield his eyes against the sun. This was going to be interesting. Difficult, and perhaps annoying, but also interesting. And Logan likes interesting things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late! Classic me! So, this has been another chapter and I really hope you liked it. Have a guess on what you think the next chapter will be. Logan's character was a little challenging to write, but it was fun to figure out how he's still human despite his lack of emotion, he's not robotic. Also, making the dialogue between Logan and Virgil was surprisingly fun. Again, leave a thought on what you think of Virgil's character. Clearly, he isn't as shy or nervous as most depictions of him. He's more assertive, and I think it reflect the Virgil in the series that we now know instead of the mean-faced Anxiety.
> 
> 1\. Again, what do you think is going to be the next chapter?  
> 2\. Also, is anyone wondering where Roman and Patton are? Good question.
> 
> See you in the next one (hopefully it'll be out by next Wednesday).
> 
> ~ AJ


	5. The Rogue Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fugitive has entered the land of the New World. There, he met an ally.

**United States, 1860**

‘Hot’ was the only thing that came to mind. Scorching heat that melts the skin into sweat. All he could see was the endless span of dry soil in front of him. It was unfortunate he had to leave in such a hurry. He had been walking for a few weeks now. The only thing he had with him was a canteen filled with already-warm water. Still, it was better than nothing. He took a chug of water, and soon the canteen was empty. He let out a heavy sigh, seeing the desert was never-ending. He had yet to see another person in the last six days.

He continued his walk under the sun until he heard something. It was unmistakably running water. And right he was, the gurgling sound of water seemed to echo around him. He followed the sound and there, he found a small oasis fed by a few springs sprouting out of the ground. The water was frigid, a welcome change from the sweltering weather. He sank his canteen into the knee-deep water, filling it with water. He then plunged his entire face into the water, practically inhaling the water to quench his thirst.

There were thick bushes framing the small pool of water, some as tall as his waist. He hid under the shadow, avoiding the burning sun. There was no way he was going to let the sun bake his face. He looked down on his attire—a well-tailored military uniform, the insignia sewn onto the thick fabric of the uniform. He let out a deep sigh, no longer feeling proud of his uniform he used to wear with pride. It reminded him of the reason he had to travel alone in the desert. A tainted soldier. A fugitive. An absolute coward.

Once when he was a child, there was a circus going around cities. Father had taken him and his siblings to see. Countless animals, people and shows. Oh, the shows. There were magic shows where people would swallow fire, tamed lions and tigers, acrobatics and songs. It was a kind of magic that had never left his mind. And when he went home, he had told his mother with so much excitement bundled up in his tiny frame, shouting “ _mamá,_ I’m going to be a performer and I’m going to make you proud!” Her mother had laughed merrily, carrying him to bed to sleep.

It was fate—if it was real at all—which decided for him to be a soldier instead. He loved being a soldier. Helping others and the country. He was able to see the world outside his humble little village and provide for his family even with the possible expense of his life. It was unfortunate he had to leave alone. And truly, there were no regrets trailing behind him as he believed what he did to be right. None but one. A small weight rested in the pocket of his uniform—a silver bracelet with a tiny ruby sitting on its center. He will keep it safe, if only for his beloved sister.

The sun was starting to cast long shadows on the ground. The sound of water was loud and clear in the middle of the lonely desert. It was time to start walking again, at least until the sun goes to sleep in the horizon. He stretched his aching joints before continuing his long walk. He had been on his feet for a little over fourteen days, walking all the way from the south. He had hoped to find safety in the New World; an independent colony. Perhaps he would be safer there where no one will pursue him for his alleged crime.

As the sky went dark, the stars started to let out their shine. The deep blue of the evening sky wore the stars like jewels, glittering with beauty. In the distance, he could make out the vague shape of a tree, standing alone proudly in the middle of the desert. Under it was a speck of glowing orange: a fire. He quickened his pace, eager to find another person after having been alone for two weeks. He could feel the aching joints of his legs crying out for him to slow down, but the loneliness building in him begged not to be ignored.

“Hey!” He called out. He could see a man sitting on the ground by the fire. “Hey, you there!”

The man looked up from where he sat and stood, approaching the new comer without hesitance. The soldier finally ran closer. He rested his hands on his knees, trying to draw some needed air into his lungs after his short run. He looked up to the man from his hunched posture, unfolding himself into his impressive height.

“Greetings,” the soldier said with a charming smile. His accent was thick, though still understandable. “May I ask if this is America?”

“Course’ it is!” The man said, slapping his own thigh. “Welcome to the wild west, pal. And who are ya?”

“Uh, sorry. Delgado,” the soldier answered the question awkwardly. “Roman Delgado.”

The man offered him a friendly, welcoming smile. “The name’s Patton. Guess yer not from around?”

“Mexico.” Roman pointed at the insignia on his uniform shamefully. “Spain military.”

“Spanish! Shoulda guessed from that name o’ yours. Accent, too. Somethin’ ain’t it?”

Roman gave the man—Patton—another flash of a smile. He prepared himself, sorting out what knowledge of English he had in his head. “Would you… mind if I camp here?”

“Oh, no! Of course not, fella. It’s always good ta have another fellow in a night like this.”

Roman dropped his satchel on the ground by the fire. It was nearly empty, with only his canteen and another set of uniform, still clean. He had left the military base in such hurry that he didn’t have time to bring enough with him. He’d made the mistake of leaving his weapons, too, which left him defenseless. Patton was quite the friendly man, even introducing Roman to his horse who had been lying on the ground, leaning against the tree.

“This beaut’ right here is Orchard. She’s been a friend o’ mine since I was a kid.”

“I know how to ride, but I never had one.” Roman approached the horse slowly, mindful not to step on her tail lest he get kicked back to Mexico. He stroked her mane gently, liking the feel of her thick hair under his fingers. “Do excuse me for barging into your camp.”

“Ay! Nonsense. Anyone’s welcome here, as long as yer not here to make troubles.”

Roman went back to where he sat, pulling his satchel closer. It was only thing he had left from his father. He had left everything else back in Spain before he was issued to move to Mexico. The life of a soldier was not an easy one, but Roman found he quite like it. He had many friends in the military, all from corporals to generals. Being a human magnet, it was no problem for him to find entertainment.

He laid down, resting his head on his satchel. The hours ticked by as he watched the stars migrate across the sky ever so slowly. He looked over where Patton laid curled against Orchard for warmth, breath steady with sleep. He will have to tell Patton who he is when morning comes. He was a man of honor and honesty, despite his crime. He would not want Patton to be in danger because he unknowingly familiarize himself with a fugitive of the Spanish military. All he expected was rejection and nothing else. He will have to wait and see.

 

* * *

 

“Didcha have a plan?” Patton asked. It was dawn in the desert. The sky was a pale blue, almost white, and the dry air was chilly. The sun has yet to show itself.

Roman did have a plan: to get as far away from the military’s radar. If he was ever caught, heavens would know what will happen to him. Patton’s question brought an uneasy thought in his mind. He had yet to confess his identity to the friendly cowboy. He wasn’t quite sure what to do as he had just entered an unfamiliar territory.

“Uh, where exactly are we?” Roman asked, standing up and brushing away the dirt clinging to his pants. “I know it’s the south.”

“The wild west, pal! We’re in Texas.”

“Alright. Thank you for your hospitality,” Roman beamed and took a step back to leave. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I believe this is where we part.”

“Oh? So you do have a plan!” Patton interjected Roman’s farewell. He wasn’t ready to see this new stranger go. “Just an idea, but… ya mind if ya come with me? Good ta have some friend, amiright?”

Roman couldn’t believe his own ears. He blinked in confusion and hope. Having a companion in his trip to nowhere would certainly provide more protection. Especially without weapons or money, Patton could be a big help. His lips bloomed into a smile, wide and bright. His conscience, though, told him not to go. If Patton was to be in harm’s way because of him, Roman will not let that happen. He set his worries aside. He _will_ be honest. He _will_ be truthful. Though perhaps not now.

“It would be a pleasure. I did not know where to go either,” he admitted. “Thank you for your offer.”

“Good ta have ya, pal!” Orchard the horse was already waiting for her rider. She was tall, glossy black hair with a vaguely heart-shaped white spot on the chest. The perfect horse for a man with a heart like Patton. “Now, what did ya say about a horse?”

“Ah, wouldn’t it be easier if I had a horse, too? We would get to wherever we’re going faster.”

“Too bad, fella. I got no money on me.” Patton patted the pockets of his pants harshly, indicating their lack of content. “Can’t get ya one. That a’right withcha?”

“That’s alright with me. Shall we go then?”

“Course, buddy. Let’s wait til’ the sun says hello and then we’re off.”

Slowly, the pale blue sky shifted to a golden hue. The sun kissed the white puffy clouds so gently, painting them with its orange blaze. Warmth flooded the desert little by little, replacing the cold air of dawn. Soon, the scorching heat will return, but for now the warmth is welcome. Patton hopped onto his riding saddle, urging the mare to move. Roman walked quickly at their side, his satchel already in place on his shoulder. Not too long after, Roman will start complaining. He will complain about the heat and his aching legs. Patton will laugh and make jokes. The two move slowly across the desert to the coast, knowing not what they seek. Soon, Roman’s dramatics will be revealed and so will Patton’s lovable theatrics. In the middle of the desert, two men walked to the east.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! Back again, a week late. And also, a very very short chapter. I know, I apologize. Maafkan, ya.
> 
> The reason that this chapter was short is because these two characters refused to have a conflict with each other. Where Virgil stole Logan's briefcase and Remy almost killed Baylen, the two sweethearts in this chapter are just too nice with each other. Don't worry, there will absolutely be more thrilling things to come, but unfortunately not in this one. Do excuse me on my lateness, because I have been unexpectedly busy this past week. The next chapter, I hope, will not be late!
> 
> Since this is set in 1860s, the usual dramatics that Roman has doesn't fit the scene, so I have to find another way to show Roman's theatrics. Same case with Remy. Extraness is surprisingly challenging to master in this setting. If you have any questions or theories on what will happen next, do comment, because I love reading them. The next one will undoubtedly be almost twice as long. So, I hope that makes up for the pathetic length of this chapter.
> 
> That's it for now, see you in the next one!


	6. The Nobleman on the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy agreed to pull a heist to steal Baylen's ship back and sail to America. What ended up happening was not found anywhere in his plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! Enjoy the read.

**France, 1860**

He woke up with a sore hip. His auburn hair was a mess and his eyes were sticky. He had expected to see the sailor lying down across from him, but Baylen was nowhere to be seen. He sat up, leaning against the wooden wall of the shed behind him. Thin rays of light filtered through the glassless windows, giving the small room a warm ambiance. His hand found something wet; a mold from the rotten wood. He cringed in disgust, bolting up immediately. He stumbled on his own feet, falling backwards. He braced for impact only to be caught by a hand against his back, stopping his fall.

“When did you get here?” Remy righted himself, stepping away in a haste away from the sailor. “I thought you left.”

“I haven’t gotten my ship back. I’m still asking that favor from you, so no, I’m not leaving.” Baylen gave him an easy smirk, turning away to look out the window. “I never left this pathetic shed in the first place.”

“You were watching me sleep?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you look pretty in your sleep.”

“You are—you’re absolutely disgusting.” Remy refused to acknowledge the rising heat on his face. _‘It must be from the sun,’_ he thought to himself. He cleared his throat, composing himself. “So, you told me last night that you knew me.”

“And I do.”

“How?”

“Let me just _show_ you.”

They stepped outside under the sun. Baylen led them further down, closer to the shore. Remy followed with hesitance. If this sailor knew him, there would be a chance that other people in this tiny town to know him, too. But that’s impossible. He had been very careful when he left home, not to leave any clue as to where he went. He tried not to think of it, focusing on the sailor walking in front of him instead. He was tall—half a head taller than Remy himself—and he walked with a confident gait. Half his head was wrapped in a dirty white cloth, his messy hair sticking out from under it. From what he could see, Remy didn’t think this Baylen fellow to look like a sailor at all. Of course, he wouldn’t be sure only seeing from the loose tunic Baylen wore that was tucked into the waistband of his dark-yellow, almost brown pants.

They stopped in the middle of the town where a great statue of a swordfish stood, posing majestically as if breaching out of water. Baylen looked around, before spotting what he was looking for.

“Wait here,” Baylen said briefly, walking over to a tree where a piece of paper was nailed onto its trunk. He ripped the paper and walked back to where Remy stood. “Here it is. _Missing person: Remedio Arlotti. Age twenty-one. Son of Enrico Arlotti, the fine nobleman of Northern Italy._ ”

As Baylen read the flyer, Remy creased his forehead with worry. He clenched his hands tightly, trying not to burst into tears. He steeled himself, taking a deep breath before taking the flyer from Baylen’s hand. He read the words carefully over and over, the meaning not getting through his head. He saw the inscription at the bottom of the page. _Paying reward,_ it read. He refused to read the number before crumpling the paper in his hands and throwing it to the ground harshly.

“Hm… can’t imagine why you’re upset,” Baylen said sarcastically, eyes fixed on the visible waters in the distance.

“We have to go, _now._ ”

Remy marched to the beach, not caring if Baylen followed or not. He had to go now before they find him. He flinched when he felt a strong grip on his wrist, yanking it back as though the touch had burned him.

“Do _not_ touch me.”

“Alright,” Baylen said, taking a step back and raising his arms in mock defeat. “I understand you are upset. I do not know why you are here, and I do not wish to know. Now, I am as excited as you are on getting my ship back, but we do not have a plan.”

“But we have to leave this instant.”

Remy watched as Baylen took a deep breath, walking back and forth in a small circle. He tried thinking of an idea himself. He was about to say something when Baylen cut through his thought. With a big, childish smile that could only be described as enthusiastic, Baylen clapped his hands loudly.

Baylen took the crumpled flyer from the ground. “I have a plan!”

 

* * *

 

“This has got to be the worst plan anyone has ever had,” Remy mumbled as he threw his shoes into a boat. He climbed in after it, getting the two oars from the floor of the boat. There was a sack, too, full and heavy.

“If you have a better idea, this is the best time for you to tell me,” came a muffled noise from behind him. He kicked in that general direction, earning a small cry of pain. He gave himself a satisfied smile of victory.

“What was that for?”

“Shut it.” Remy placed the oars at the side of the boat and started rowing slowly. “I’ve never rowed a boat before. This is hard.”

Baylen chuckled before all noises died off. The ship does not look too far off the coast, but in truth it is further into the ocean than one might expect. It made sense, of course. If the ship was too close to shore the hull will graze the sand and the ship will be as good as stranded. The sun was not too high in the morning sky, but the heat was enough to bother Remy. Drops of sweat started to make their way down his temple and back. The splash of water lapping gently against wood was rather relaxing, in rhythm with the sway of the boat on water.

After some time of rowing, they were finally close enough to the ship. Remy could see the full size of the ship up close. From the shore, it appears small with its sails drawn. Now, he could see the impressive size of the ship, bigger than his own father’s merchant ship. Speaking of, this ship did not look like any other he had seen before. It looked like a merchant ship, but not quite. There were small square doors at the side of the ship which only meant the ship had canons. A gun boat? Odd for a merchant ship to have those. The usual white sails were grey instead, but perhaps it was dirty so they appear darker. The name of the ship was written in an elegant calligraphy at the side of the ship: _Le Destin Doré._

“Hey!” He shouted, waving his arms wildly in the hopes of gaining attention. “Hey, up there! I need your help!”

The pirate crew were having quite the big argument on the ship. When they heard the voice of a young man, one of them approached the side of the ship, telling the others to wait. He leaned over, seeing a lone man on a boat, waving his arms.

“Who are you?” The pirate asked sternly.

“Uh, sorry. I need your help. I will pay you a good amount if you are willing!”

The pirate was silent for a moment before shouting back. “Alright. But you will keep your promise of our pay?”

“Of course!”

The pirate turned his back as he started to shout orders to the crew. Soon, a rope ladder was thrown along the side of the ship for Remy to climb. He looked down on the sack on the boat, sighing in frustration and impatient.

“I’m sorry. This sack I have is full of provision. Food and all. It is quite the heavy load,” Remy explained. “Would you mind pulling it up with a rope?”

Another moment, the end of a rope was thrown onto the boat, and Remy tied the fabric of the sack with it. He let the crew pulled it, the weight of the sack slamming against the side of the ship once in a while. Remy could only cringe as he watched the sack swing back and forth, crashing against the ship. He climbed the ladder and hopped onto the wooden floor of the ship. The dark wood was oddly clean, though wet with sea water. He had imagined a pirate ship would be dirty and slimy, perhaps even smelly.

From the stern to bow, he could see about eighteen pirates all standing on guard. Two more were sitting on the mast of the sails and another one spying from the crow’s nest. Perhaps looking out if Remy brought an ally with him to bring down the crew. Fully aware of his position, Remy felt exposed being surrounded by burly pirates ready to attack at any second. One in particular, the only woman he could see on the ship, standing with an arrogant air by the wheel. The pirate who had spoken to him earlier took a  few steps closer, inspecting him with careful precision.

“Introduce yourself. I will do the same.”

“Uhm… I’m Remedio Arlotti,” Remy said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. He took a folded flyer from his pocket and gave it to the pirate. “I am an Italian nobleman. I seem to have made the wrong choice to flee from home, so I need you to take me back.”

“I am not refusing, but are you aware who and _what_ we are? Are you sure you want to ask for our help?”

“Yes. In return, there will be a price to pay for you.” Remy slowly gained confidence, leveling the pirate with a stoic gaze—though his eyes still shifted with uncertainty and dread. “They are offering you seventy-thousand Lira, correct? That is a lot of money if converted to Franc.”

“How much exactly?” The pirate asked, eyes dancing with interest.

“Does it matter?”

“Alright then.” The pirate took another step closer, eyeing the grey sack that now sits by Remy’s foot. He looked up again, giving Remy a surprisingly warm smile. “I’m René Xavier.”

“Are you the captain?”

René seemed to be surprised by Remy’s question. The pirate looked behind to where the woman stood by the wheel. She only shrugged in response. He looked back to Remy and gave him another smile. “It seems I am. Now, may I check what’s in that sack? We have a policy here, just to make sure we’re safe.”

“You’re welcome to inspect.”

Before René had any time to crouch down to see what’s inside, Remy kicked the sack _hard._ Baylen tore through the thin fabric with a small, sharp knife—Remy’s. He jumped and flipped into a standing stance with a smirk. He ripped the white fabric covering his face quickly, throwing it at René’s face as a distraction. The pirates, all caught off guard, took their weapons and charged.

Remy, weaponless, faced a pirate without defense. Lucky, he was much smaller than the pirate. He ducked as a pirate swiped with his fist. Remy landed a punch on the pirate’s sternum, pulling his sword as well. He moved in a flash, stopping right behind the pirate and bashed his skull with the handle of the sword. One down.

On the other side of the ship, Baylen sliced a pirate’s thigh. The pirate knelt down in pain and grabbed the collar of his tunic, sending him slamming down against the wooden floor. He rolled, punching the pirate’s junk and kicking his head. Soon, another one came at him. He pulled their arm. Now off balanced, the pirate fell face first and a kick to the neck did the job. Turning to walk into the captain’s cabin, the woman-pirate jumped in front of him. She kicked his leg only for him to give a blow to her stomach.

“Use the knife, Baylen,” she said cooly as she pulled out her sword. “I dare you.”

“Oh, you don’t want me to.”

Standing by the ship’s main mast, Remy was pushed off balance. He rolled, pulling another pirate’s leg, sending said pirate falling as well. He stood, running at full speed towards the edge of the ship. He dragged another crew-member along the way, and with his momentum threw him overboard. He turned back only to be faced by René. He hesitated. The man seemed nice enough.

“He lied to you,” René took a cautious step closer. “Do you even know who he is?”

“I don’t. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Does it?” René looked Remy up and down with careful attention. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Remy charged forward, aiming at René’s neck with the sword in his hand. René dodged the attack, catching Remy’s dominant arm and twisting it behind his back. Remy let out a sharp cry, hand going slack. The sword in his grip fell. René kicked him at the back of the knee.

“Your attack is predictable. You should have moved more quickly, but thank you as you gave me time to think,” René mocked with a satisfied huff. “I really tried to be nice, because clearly you don’t know what you’re doing. But you’re not giving me another reason to be nice, so I won’t be.”

“Let go of me!” Remy shouted. René let his arm go, but not before he had a secure grip on the collar of Remy’s tunic. “You know, a man with morale like you would do so much better outside a pirate ship.”

“I am no man.” René sounded conflicted and somewhat upset.

“A woman?” Remy mocked.

“Not that either.”

“You’re confusing.”

“Believe me. I’m confused as you are.”

Without another word, René dragged Remy to the middle of the ship. He was shoved harshly, landing flat on his chest right by the mast. He took Remy’s chin, forcing him to look up from where he lay to watch Baylen fight against the woman-pirate. The rest of the crew who were uninjured or thrown overboard watched in silence as she finally landed a tough blow on Baylen’s temple. He stumbled and fell on his back. The woman put her boot against his chest, keeping him from rising back up.

“You lose this time, Baylen,” she said loudly with a satisfied smile. She pointed her sword at his neck. “As you will always do without us.”

“Wait, you know each other?” Remy asked in confusion. How could a sailor be familiar with a pirate?

“Of course we know him.” René answered him with a shake of his head and made eye-contact with Baylen, letting disappointment shine through. “He’s our old captain.”

 

* * *

 

“You lied!” Remy shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Baylen. He turned, walking back and forth in an erratic circle. “How could—how could anyone— _ugh!_ How dare you!”

“Hm… he _always_ lies.” The woman—Collette, her name was—said from where she sat in the captain’s cabin, leaning against a wall. “Don’t expect anything else.”

“To be fair, you weren’t truthful about who you were either,” Baylen retorted, completely ignoring Collette’s comment. He was sitting on his bed in the cabin without his tunic as he tends to his wound after the fight.

“Yes, but I never said I was someone I am not!”

“Alright, settle down.” René walked across the room, standing between them. “This is all just a misunderstanding, so let’s talk like adults.”

“No,” Collette stood, approaching Baylen with a scowl. “He shouldn’t have betrayed us in the first place. Stop lying for once.”

“You don’t know why I did what I did. All you know is what you want to see.”

“Is that so? What’s your reason, then? Greed? You just wanted all the money for yourself.”

“That is _not_ true! You—”

“As if anything you will say now is true!”

“You don’t know that!”

“You two need to stop this instance.” René said sternly, cutting through their argument. “You know, Baylen, if you’re just a little more truthful then this wouldn’t have happened. She’s right and you know it.”

“Oh, I see. You, too!” Baylen shouted in anger, rising to stand.

“You _betrayed_ us!” René interjected.

“I have a reason! I needed that money.”

“But that’s not how you go about doing it, Bay. There are _rules_ here.”

“Screw the rules.”

Remy was lost to their conversation. He stepped outside the chamber into the evening. They had been having this meaningless conversation all throughout the day. The sky was dark now, but the stars didn’t shine through. The clouds in the distance rumbled. There was going to be a storm in a few days. He walked solemnly to the edge of the ship, leaning forward over the railing. He stared at the reflection on the still water. He could see the town in the distance. Torches burned along the beach, glowing bright against the dark.

A thud.

He looked to his side in surprise. Collette now stood next to him, her back against the railing. Remy looked at her with a bewildered expression. She seemed to understand his question, pointing at the rope she held in one hand. She swung herself from the deck down to where Remy stood, so it was no wonder she made no sound.

“What’s your name again?” She asked.

“Remy.”

“So,” she started, glancing at him with curiosity. “How did you get tied up with Baylen? He was only gone for about four days and now he’s here with a new friend.”

“He offered to—to sail me to America.” Remy looked back at the reflection on the water again. If his mother could see him now—messy and sticky with sweat—she would have scolded him. “I was supposed to help him steal the ship.”

“We need him, as odd as that sounds.” Collette looked down on her hands. “No one around knows how to be a captain as good as he is. The day he went away, the crew became chaotic. We didn’t know how to coordinate and work together well enough to even try to sail away.”

“That’s why you’re still here by the coast,” Remy said with a nod, finishing her train of thought. “Uh, miss Bonheur—”

“Just Collette is fine.”

“Alright then, um, earlier René told me that he’s neither a man nor a woman. What does that mean?”

“Hm, yes. I don’t know how to explain that, but the more you know them the more you’ll understand.”

“Them?”

“Yes. Neither a man nor a woman.”

Before there was another word exchanged between them, the door to the captain’s cabin opened. Baylen stepped out, walking over to where the other two stood. He had given a nod to Collette before she quickly disappeared down into the crew’s quarters. Remy and Baylen stood side by side. The tension between them lingered.

“Why don’t we head to my cabin? Have some tea and then we can talk.”

Remy was ready to refuse. He had wanted to leave right away, find another way to go to America. Though at the mention of tea, he nodded. He will leave after tea. Tea always fixes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! Because I was just too excited to wait til' next week. This one was really fun for me to write and re-read during editing. What do you think? It's a little fast-paced, but I think it works fine. Any critics are welcome. In this chapter, we get to see what Remy is like on the inside, but we have yet to see his sassiness. This will most definitely show in the next chapter featuring our beloved caffeine-addict. As promised, this one is a tiny bit longer, so I hope it was more fun to read than the previous one. Let me know what you think of the short fight scene. I'm unfamiliar to fencing or sword fighting, so educate me (just a little).
> 
> 1\. Now, how do you think our protags will find each other? I think it's gonna be a fun journey for all six of them to go on.  
> 2\. Opinions on both René and Collette, please! They are both really fun to write. As you may have guessed, these two are Baylen's confidant/best friends of sort. That means we will see more from both of them.  
> 3\. Has anyone figured out who our villain will be? I should say I've hid them quite well, so we'll have to see.
> 
> That's it from me for now, see ya in the next one!


	7. The Lone Cowboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton roamed the desert with his new companion. Along the way, an unsavory news followed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm still here, don't worry. Sorry for the wait, because I am currently in Italy and I am obligated to spend time with my family. Anyways, excuse the shortness of this chapter (again) because reasons. But, just know that the next chapter is going to be way longer.

**United States, 1860**

The breeze in the desert did not bring the expected cool air that caress his sweaty skin. Instead, it brought with it loose soil that clouded his eyes and even hotter air. It only made him more restless and long for a cool shade. The mare below him, too, was getting impatient. Orchard no longer walked with vigor, but with exhaustion clear in her posture. Next to him, Roman walked with his feet dragging on the sand, groaning every now and then.

“What is this place you seek, dear rider?”

“Ay, pal, ya talk like some kind of royalty,” Patton commented, forgetting to answer Roman’s question. “It’s funny.”

“I don’t quite understand what you meant, but I take that as a compliment. I _have_ after all, dreamed of being a prince.”

“Oh, and answering yer question, we goinna the coast now.”

Patton lowered his hat lower on his face, shielding his eyes from the sun. It was light-brown in color, almost like wet sand with a darker hatband. His brother had given it to him long ago. And since the day he left, the hat never left his sight. Speaking of, _what does a lone cowboy doing, travelling to the east?_ Patton didn’t quite know either. There were too many things to think about when it comes to reasoning, all tied up to his past. He would rather not think of it at all, lest the memories come biting back.

The two continued their silent walk across the desert which didn’t seem to have an end. It had been a few days, and still the desert goes on. The arid weather and its heat burned whatever it touched—at least it felt that way. Patton had wanted to bolt ahead with Orchard, eager to find someplace to rest. But, a small groan reminded him of Roman’s presence. He could _never_ leave a friend behind.

“How long does this journey take, Patton?” Roman groaned as he dragged his feet. “I think my feet are going to break.”

“Aye, fella, ye don’t have to be dramatic,” Patton said loudly with a good-natured laugh. “Here go, get on the horse.”

Patton hopped off of Orchard’s back, patting the saddle firmly for Roman to get on. Seeing that Roman was about to argue against his suggestion, Patton laughed again, taking Roman’s arm and pushed him lightly towards the mare. After Roman reluctantly got on the horse, a relieved smile painted Patton’s face. He took Orchard’s reign and towed her along as he walked.

“How ‘bout this, pal,” he said with a warm expression, “ye ride for two three hours, then I get on. Another two three hours and ye get on. Sounds good?”

“Of course! Your idea is truly genius!”

“Ye see? Dramatic!”

They continued their way to the east, not stopping until the sun dipped into the horizon. There were sparks of yellows and oranges in the distance; a small town, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. And slowly, the lights became brighter and brighter as they came closer.

“Ey, pal, why doncha hop on the horse, yea?” Patton asked as he gestured towards the small space of the saddle behind him.  We can get to the town faster.”

It took some effort for Roman to get on, especially with the darkening sky, but they managed. With that, the two galloped down to the town, seeking some comfort in the midst of the Wild West dessert. They can see silhouettes of people, walking around leisurely or sitting on wooden landings in front of their houses. And again, as they went nearer, the silhouettes turned into colors. The town was less crowded than they had anticipated. With the little money that Patton had, they decided to go into a saloon to have a little drink.

“Welcome to _The Rogue Bull,_ ” the saloon keeper greeted them with a wide grin. “New faces! What a delight, now. What can I getcha?”

“Ay, fella!” Patton greeted back. “An _old fashioned_ for me. Whatcha want Roman?”

“Ah, just ale for me is fine.”

They sat by the bar, watching the keeper work his magic. He was tall, hairy as a bear. His beard was so thick that his face was almost buried in hair—yet nevertheless, he managed to look quite the friendly fellow. The thick overalls he wore looked awkward for such a massive man, but it still worked somehow. And despite his size, he could move around behind the small bar without any accidents of spill. Soon, their drinks were presented to them. Patton did not expect himself to order such alcoholic beverages, but it was just right for him at the moment.

“Anything else I can get ya?” The saloon keeper asked.

“It’s all good here, pal.”

“Right then,” the keeper said again. “Name’s Wyatt. I assume you’re travellers?”

“That, we are!” Patton was enthusiastic as usual. It was as if the long travel did not wear him down at the slightest.

“I can give you some advice. Safety and all.”

“Safety against what?” Roman chimed in with a question. “Thieves and robbers? I think I know how to handle those.”

“Oh no, no, buddy,” Wyatt said as he rubbed his palms together in thought. “Murders.”

The smile that Patton had worn all day fell in an instant. Murder was not something he could simply talk in passing. He took a sip from his glass, hiding his face. He ended up downing the whole glass entirely, grimacing at the harsh taste of alcohol burning his throat. Patton tried putting up a smile. Roman gave him a look, but he decided not to mention it.

“What’s with the murder, pal?” Patton questioned Wyatt, trying to hide his discomfort.

“Well,” Wyatt started, a little hesitant, “there’s been a few people turning up dead or something like that. So far, there’s been six or seven in the past five months.”

“Woah, that is quite a concern!” Roman exclaimed, fortunately conscious enough to keep his voice low. “Don’t you worry, dear Patton. I can protect _both_ of us when the time demands.”

“No need, Roman. I can do that m’self.” Patton gave him a sweet side-smile. Roman knew nothing about his skills with guns.

His fingers drifted to his belt where a holster was fastened. The gun he owned, twin revolvers given by his brother, was as precious to him as gold is to any other man. He remembered the day they were gifted to him. It was his thirteenth birthday. He had been beaming when his brother put a small leather case in front of him in their small bedroom. The grip was marble-white with a horse’s head on each side. It was perfect—and still is. At fourteen years of age, Patton had become the fastest pistol in town—youngest at the time. And it was no wonder that every cowboy clan in town wanted him with them. Though knowing the violence and competition that came with it, Patton refused all offers, even when his sisters and brother joined in.

He ripped himself from the path of his memory. He’d had enough thinking of the past when the present is about to give him something to work with.

“You see,” Wyatt continued his story, “some of those guys who turned up dead were found with bullets in their skulls. Rumor has it they got tied up with some kind of gang from up north.”

“What gang, y’know?” Patton asked, morbidly intrigued. He should know his enemy well if he’s going to fight them. “Shouldn’t be too hard, ain’t it?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, in that case, we should probably head off.” Roman finished his drink quickly upon noticing Patton’s discomfort. He joked, “wouldn’t want to be the next victim, do we?”

Soon enough, the two exited the saloon with a heavy weight on their shoulders. Patton did not say a single word, walking leisurely to where Orchard stood nearby. Roman was a few steps behind him, looking around carefully. At this point, anyone who so much as glanced at them looked suspicious in their cautious mind. Patton hopped on Orchard’s back, ready to gallop away when he remembered Roman with his sad and worn leather bag standing next to him. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his fears and gave Roman a small smile. They walked quickly to the other side of the small, unnamed town, eager to leave it behind them.

They much preferred to camp in the dry and cold desert night rather than risk their life to have some comfort renting a room in the town’s lodging. It became their habit in the past few days, staying in the outskirts of a town rather than staying in—a good habit to have when one does not have money to spend. That night, they settled in the open desert, finding no tree to hide under or even a single bush for cover. The sky was their roof, the stars their night light. The desert was ghost-quiet, only the occasional crackle of firewood and Orchard’s steady breath accompanied their night.

Patton laid his head on Orchard’s back, facing away from his companion. Was he worried about his safety? Not quite. He knew what bothered his mind, but he did not want to acknowledge the thing nagging at the back of his mind. Slowly, he dipped into a restless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty!! Sorry again that this is short, hope you don't mind. Now that we're done with the introductory chapters for the characters, THIS IS THE END OF ACT 1 IN THE STORY. The next chapter will enter ACT 2, which is where all the fun stuff begins (well, I do hope it's already fun so far.) 
> 
> 1\. What do you think of Patton's character? He's very cheery, as usual but do you notice anything different? I want to know your opinion on this.  
> 2\. Roman is a little quiet, because I find him incredibly difficult to write in the setting of 1860s. But, I like challenges, so we'll have to see how I will master to write his character.  
> 3\. I have left many hints in these Act 1 chapters, and if you are able to crack the clues you would know what will happen next. Knowing that the next chapter will be the beginning of a new phase, what do you think is going to happen?
> 
> That's it for now, I will see you next week hopefully or perhaps even the end of this week. No promises, because I will be off most of the time. The next one is going to be a lot more suspenseful, so be ready!


	8. Coincidental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baylen and Remy reached an agreement, while on the other side of the sea Virgil and Logan set sail to France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied homophobia; internalized homophobia

**France, 1860**

Remy followed the captain up the wooden steps to the landing leading to the captain’s cabin. The fire-lit room was warm as the walls kept the cold breeze away. There was a desk in one corner, delicate carvings adorned the dark wood with a heavy chair to match. On it were a mess of yellowing papers and a single unlit candle. A tall shelf sat on the other side of the room right by the bed.

“I wouldn’t have guessed for you to like reading,” Remy said as he looked through the books on the shelf.

“What? Those?” Baylen sat on his thin mattress—which was essentially stips of fabric layered thick on a wooden divan. “I acquired some of those during… um… _travels._ ”

“You mean _raid work?_ Isn’t that what you mean?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Why?” Remy turned, facing the other with a hard glare. “Why did you have to lie and—”

“Because, _m’lord,_ ” Baylen interrupted with a mock at the nobleman, putting on an obnoxious expression, “you wouldn’t have joined me if I hadn’t done that. Now, be truthful; will you ever help a pirate?”

Remy’s answer was clear in his expression. He didn’t need to answer for Baylen to know his thinking. Baylen turned to his small bedside table and took the still-warm cup of tea into his hand. He sipped his tea while paying careful attention to the fine nobleman standing before him. He looked much more stunning without the cover of shadows. He knew, of course, that people have certain disdains and misjudgments about homosexuality. But having had spent his life out in the ocean, he found adhering to the rules of society to be pointless. Besides, he isn’t the only one in the crew who was out of the ordinary. Baylen set his cup of tea back on its saucer, nodding at the empty cup sitting on the table for Remy to take.

“Tea?”

“Alright,” Remy sighed.

He walked over with a straight and stiff posture, a habit acquired from years of training as a noble. Back in his family home, there were many rules and protocols. _“You have to set your back straight. Chin up! Be proud.”_ He still remembered the words of one of his teachers who were paid handsomely by the Arlotti family. Genette was one of the teachers he actually liked. She was strict, but gentle and understanding. She was more present than even his own mother. Remy let out a heavy sigh after taking a sip of his tea.

Remy looked over at Baylen once again. The pirate was looking wistfully out the door which stood ajar. Remy couldn’t seem to get his gaze off of the pirate’s blind eye. It was fully visible now without the white cloth which had previously covered half his face. The eye was a murky white—almost yellowish in tone, like white butter. The eye lid was torn, a deep scar running along the skin. He wondered what had happened that gave Baylen the scar, but he didn’t dwell on the thought.

“What are you looking at?” Baylen asked defensively, reaching up to cover his eye.

“Nothing.” Remy took another sip of his tea. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Ah, yes.” Baylen stood, walking over the door and closing it gently. He turned, facing Remy with a neutral expression—which unsettled the nobleman as his face was naturally hard and even more intimidating with the scar on his eye. “I would like to now return the favor to sail you to America.”

“No, thank you. I cannot trust you. And I am _not_ sorry to say so, because I find your actions rather appalling and repulsive.”

“Such words, _my lord._ ”

“Do not address me as such,” Remy said firmly.

“Why not? It is the correct way to address a nobleman.”

“It is, but I rather hate it. Just my name is enough.”

“Alright, then,” Baylen responded with a mocking bow of the head. It seems everything that he did has an underlying of ridicule and tease, whether intentional or not. “Aside from my _appalling and repulsive_ actions, what other things are not in your favor?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Remy said with deep sarcasm. He put one hand on his hip, putting his weight on one leg—standing in a way no noble should. “Maybe, _just maybe,_ I can’t trust you. You’re a liar, _obviously._ ”

“Where did this attitude come from?”

“It’s what I do when faced with _foolish_ questions.”

“Goodness. I never thought someone could insult me and make me laugh at the same time.” Baylen howled with laughter. “You are rather amusing. Your mother must have had a difficult time with such a mouthy son such as you.”

“No. Mother didn’t care.” Remy raised an eyebrow. “Anyways, can we hurry this conversation? You know my decision on this matter, and I’m ready to leave.”

“May I suggest an alternative for you?”

“Be quick, would you.” Remy retained his composure, folding his arms at his back and standing with his usual stiff posture.

“I assume you do not have legal papers for you to go on another ship to sail to your destination. With me, you are not required to give any form of payment, and no papers are needed.”

There was a moment of silence as Remy thought things through. He gestured for the pirate to continue without a word. In the meantime, he poured himself some more tea. It had been a few weeks since he’d had any kind of caffeine in his system—obviously required to keep him up with his unstable sleep schedule. Baylen’s tea was quite extraordinary, better than the one he had at home. Undoubtedly a raid work as well. Remy frowned at the thought of consuming something that was not rightfully his, but he’d do anything for tea, even if it meant ignoring his morals.

“A journey to America with a commercial ship will take you six weeks, or even eight if there were to be dangerous weathers. With my ship, we can get there in four weeks at most. Perks of having a pirate ship; it moves quickly.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Remy asked, intrigued at Baylen’s words yet hesitant.

“Oh, you _can’t_ trust me. But as long as René and Collette are here, you’ll be fine.”

“And that’s supposed to be reassuring?” The nobleman scrunched his face with confusion. “What was that supposed to mean?”

“Yes, it was meant to be reassuring. Those two are my impulse control.”

Remy narrowed his eyes in bewilderment at the pirate’s odd words and actions. Still, he found it rather comical, which was a refreshing change from the seriousness of a noble life. He weighed his options once more. It was true he had no legal papers on him. Though he did have a good amount of money. He could perhaps bribe one of the captains on shore, but that could result in him becoming penniless. In that case, there was no use for going to America in the first place. He let out a tiny frustrated sigh, almost inaudible. He looked over at Baylen again with distrust. The pirate already knew his decision by the time he said it.

“Fine. I’ll go with you,” Remy finally answered with dread. “While you mentioned for no payment to be made, is there anything I _should_ give you?”

“You helped me get my ship back, so that’s enough for me,” Baylen answered. A smirk grew slowly on his lips. “But that being said, you could pay me with a good night on my bed.”

“ _Ugh,_ you’re _disgusting!_ ” Remy shouted, irk and shock apparent in his voice. He was speechless for a minute as Baylen whooped with laughter. “I hope God will forgive your sins, because it seems you have too much.”

Remy took a step back in disgust. He watched Baylen laughed, stomach heaving with short breaths. And at that moment, he found himself bothered by Baylen’s lack of clothing. He could see the hard lines of muscles across the pirate’s torso, along his strong-looking shoulders and a few lines across his stomach. He didn’t care before, but he couldn’t seem to stand it now. He couldn’t admit that perhaps a tiny piece of him found the pirate attractive, but he had to forget these disgusting urges lest he would commit a sin. He tore his gaze away, red-faced and ashamed of himself.

He shoved past Baylen, who was still laughing quite violently and into the open deck outside. He closed the door behind him, taking a deep breath. Too bad he left his cup of tea inside the cabin. Not a second, the door to the cabin opened. The captain stuck his head through the open door.

“Come with me to shore in an hour once the sun fully sets. We’ll need to acquire more provision for our journey.” There were still traces of laughter in Baylen’s voice.

 

* * *

 

**England, 1860**

The port was buzzing, even more crowded than the city. Virgil carried with him seven apples and two bottles of juice which he had stolen hours ago in the market. He put the all in a small leather satchel he had taken in one of the shops they passed on their way and had kept Tessa’s pocket watch with him, too. Logan had warned him about getting caught and illegality of things, but Virgil ignored him.

“We’re here,” Virgil announced unnecessarily. “Too many people, which I hate.”

“You seem… extroverted enough,” Logan said with confusion. This little thief seems to do well with people.

“I don’t know what _extro-something_ means.”

“Extroverted. Extraversion is, in a nutshell, when you are more open to people and general social activities.”

“Well, Logan, for someone who is seemingly clever—” Virgil stepped over a puddle with ease while snatching a woman’s wallet— “I should say you’re quite clueless. Your assessment of me is very wrong.”

Logan furrowed his brows in irritation. Having his intelligence insulted was not something he could take lightly. He didn’t understand why people would judge him before making an effort to get to know him at all. He brushed it off. A little insult from a thief was comparable to nothing. He tried keeping up with Virgil who had slipped past a few people, getting around with ease in the middle of the crowd. Logan shoved past, murmuring apologies every time his shoulder bumped on another person. He wondered how Virgil could move with such ease.

They finally arrived at the edge of the port where a row of booths stood. Virgil pointed to one of the booths, shoving Logan forward to buy some tickets. It was then they both realized they couldn’t buy their sailing tickets.

“I can only buy one with the price they have,” Logan said desperately. “I will have to leave you.”

“No, you’re _not_ going to do that.” Virgil looked around him until he finally spotted something which attracted his eyes. “Give me a minute.”

“Before you go,” Logan grabbed the collar of Virgil’s tunic, preventing him to move. “I am not letting you steal. Besides, money isn’t our _only_ problem.”

“What do you mean, smarty?”

“For one, while I do have legal papers to travel, you don’t. So, you will have to stay here.”

“Oh no, no, I can take care of that easily as well,” Virgil insisted, squirming out of Logan’s grip. “There’s no other way, so you have to let me do it.”

“Fine.”

With a satisfied grin, Virgil slipped back into the crowd. He spied a man walking alone. He wore a brown cap and black overalls overtop an ashy-white shirt. His shoes were worn and dirty. A factory worker it is. He moved lithely, finally standing behind the man. He bumped onto the man, slipping his hands to reach into the man’s pocket.

“Oh! Sorry, lad,” Virgil said with an innocent smile when the man turned. “The crowd’s quite a big hassle for a little fellow like me.”

“That’s okay,” the man said warmly. “G’day to ya, fellow!”

With a nod, Virgil disappeared into the sea of people. He looked down on his hands. A crumpled piece of paper in one and a handful of money in the other one. He hoped it was enough money.  He shoved his way back to where Logan stood by a ticket booth, giving the scientist the money and waving the paper he took. Good thing Mrs. Brookes in the orphanage had taught him how to read and write. He wasn’t entirely helpless that way.

“Alright, smarty.” Virgil opened the folded paper and read over it quickly. “For the next six or so hours, my name is.... Cassius Brown… What kind of name is _Cassius?_ People are getting very creative with names.”

“You _really_ need to stop doing that.”

“What other choice do I have?”

“You could… I don’t know, in all honesty.”

“Exactly. Now get on with the tickets.”

After an hour in the queue, Logan finally purchased two tickets with a few shillings to spare. He pocketed the tickets and changes, walking over to where Virgil stood nearby an unlit street lamp. He could have bought one ticket for himself and board a ship without Virgil knowing. At the same time, he knew he couldn’t do that. That would be both rude and selfish. What motivation this little thief had, Logan knew not. On the one hand, he was content with travelling alone without the trouble of having a companion. At the same time, he might need the help, even if it came from stealing—surely there must be another way, but Logan couldn’t think of one.

It was noon. They would arrive in France by sundown—hopefully. Logan walked on the stone-paved harbor in a leisurely pace. His analytical mind did not stop its turning gears of thoughts. In his mind questions kept coming up. He wasn’t exactly sure what he will do once he set foot on America. He will definitely have to find a job. He’ll worry about that later.

“Our ship should already be here,” Logan said with his usual professional air. “We should board now.”

They searched for the ship. It was a giant wooden structured, all polished to perfection. The only traces of flaws were the mussels and algae eating at the bottom of the ship. This time, Logan led the way, stepping into the ship first while Virgil followed behind him. He turned behind him to find Virgil with a small leather pouch full of coins.

“Where did you get that?” Logan asked, knowing the answer already.

“Uhm, well, it fell so I took it and I was going to give it back to the person, but then when I looked around again he wasn’t here… so I think I have the right to this now…”

“No.” Logan leveled him with a stern gaze. “Absolutely not, you—you just—I—you are horrible.”

“Wow, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Virgil said sarcastically with a smirk. “Don’t worry about it, smarty. Let’s find a seat. There, on the deck. The view is nice.”

With an exasperated sigh, Logan followed the thief up to the deck, finding a bench to sit on with a view of the sea. The ship had not set sail yet, but the ocean breeze was already quite strong. There might be a storm waiting to come in a few days. He decided not to sit around, getting up and walking over to the railing. He leaned over, careful to keep a strong grip on his briefcase so as not to let it fall into the water. He felt someone leaned over next to him. Virgil looked out into the ocean, eyes full of wonder.

“Never seen the ocean before?”

“I have,” Virgil answered, voice filled with awe. “Just not this close to the water.”

“The ocean is fascinating. But I think the sky and vast space is much more interesting. There are many things we have yet to explore.” Logan looked up to the sunny blue sky. “Who knows what is to be found up there. Whether we are alone or not in this universe, either answer is terrifying.”

The two stayed in silence, enjoying the warm breeze which carried with it the smell of salt and fish. After half an hour of waiting, the ship started moving and sailed away.

 

* * *

 

**France, 1860**

René jumped from the rope ladder off the side of the ship into the small row boat below. Baylen followed behind him, then Collette. Remy had been hesitant. He didn’t know what it was that Baylen wanted to do, but as soon as he knew René and Collette will be coming as well, his doubts diminished. After he had hopped into the boat, Baylen took one oar and René took the other. It was a quick trip compared to when Remy rowed by himself. The pirates’ trained muscles were used to the hard work.

“What exactly are we doing?” Remy nudged at Collette’s side.

“You know, buying provisions and other things, too,” Collette answered coolly. “Also, you’ll need some new clothes if you want to sail with us, fancy boy.”

Soon enough, the boat gently kissed the beach. They clambered out, bare feet on wet sand before finally drying off to wear their shoes. They walked into the town. The pirates had changed their attired to look less menacing with their pirate get-up, wearing simple clothing instead. Baylen had half his face covered again. Collette still wore her braid lying gently on one of her shoulders, albeit a little neater. René looked just like they usually do. Remy, on the other hand, looked rather odd with his too-clean white tunic and too-neat black pants to match.

They split into pairs, searching the town for any small shops where they can buy something. One might ask, _why would pirates need to acquire provision when they raid ships?_ Of course, but without adequate weapons they cannot do their raiding effectively. All it will do is land them in court, arrested by the marine forces of the kingdom. Besides, a little extra whiskey in the ship wouldn’t hurt. With all the raid jobs they’ve done, the three pirates were prepared to spend their money in the town. It truly was an _odd_ bunch of pirates.

“Where are we going now?” Remy asked René. He had been glad when he was given a choice of who he wanted to go with. He will avoid the captain at any cost. “And what are we buying?”

“You really are clueless, aren’t you?” René answered with a small chuckle. “We’re buying some weapons—for you and Collette—and also some new clothes for you.”

“What’s wrong with what I have on?”

“Nothing. It’s just not very practical if you’re travelling with a band of pirates.”

Not long after, they stumbled into a small shop.  A rotten wooden board hung on the door frame. _Le Gros Poisson,_ it read. _The Big Fish._ The faint creak of the door as it swung open greeted them into the shop. It was colorful and cheery inside, a stark contrast from the shop’s foreboding exterior. There were shelves full of random things, starting from fishing rods and nets, to big knives and even some swords. The items were displayed somewhat neatly along the walls of the wooden cabin, up until the ceiling.

“Ready to make some purchases, do ya?” the shop owner greeted.

One would expect a burly bearded man to own the shop, but it was a lady who greeted them. She had a small stature with long wavy curls as dark as midnight. Her dark skin shone under the oil lamp in the cabin, highlighting her skin perfectly. She smiled a wide, charming smile and welcomed them into the shop.

On another part of the town, not too far away, Baylen and Collette scoured through small shops they passed. They found a blue little brick house with an elegantly painted sign, _Stella’s._ The house had no door, but instead big glass windows with displays. Upon entering the shop, Collette approached the little displays. There were throwing knives and some revolvers, too. On the other side was a collection of folded travelling clothes and small leather bags perfect for travel.

They heard a thud and a faint groan of pain before a man popped his head out from behind the wooden make-shift counter. He flashed them a wide grin.

“Heya there! What do you need that I can help you with?”

“We were looking for _simple_ travelling clothes,” Baylen briefly explained looking through the stack of folded fabrics. “Preferably ones which can withstand sea water or rough weather.”

“Also some weapons,” Collette added. She took a big knife from the display and tested its weight, swiping it left and right. “This one’s good for me.”

“Well, I have this one!” The shop owner turned to dig into a basket spilling with clothing. He took a step back and lost his footing after stepping on a loose fabric. He fell on his bottom with a yowl of pain. A clumsy one, it seems. He stood and searched some more before pulling out a set of clothing. “This one’s simple enough.”

It was a loose white tunic of medium size with fitted long sleeves. The material was light enough to be worn out in the sun, despite its long sleeves. The pants were loose brown ones made of thin leather. It was strong and durable—Collette even tried to slice the leather with a knife and it didn’t work. Shortly, they made a purchase and were on their way.

The crew met up at the beach by their boat. Remy and René brought a variety of weapons while Baylen and Collette added their other purchases into the pile.

“Alright then,” Baylen finally said. “Before we go, we need to buy some food. Not too much of it, but enough to feed our crew.”

“We still have some left over. We don’t need too much,” René confirmed. “I’ll wait in the boat, guard our things while all three of you can go,”

“No, thank you. I’m staying with René,” Collette said with a tone of finality that no one argued with her as she jumped into the boat. “See you later, you two.”

Remy was ready to protest, but Baylen already towed him along into the town. Baylen would not have a whiny nobleman in his ship—he will have to make Remy complain a little less. It wasn’t long after they find the street market. Rows of fresh fish were displayed on chucks of ice water. They walked past the fishes, to a section of produce. Colorful fruits were put on display on crates lined with hay.

“Which do you want?” Baylen asked the nobleman to Remy’s surprise.

“Um… any is fine by me.”

In the distance, they could hear shouts and yells. It was a sign that a ship had just docked. Some small merchants packed their things and moved closer to the new ship, hoping for new customers.

 

* * *

 

**France, 1860**

The odd pair finally set their foot on France. Virgil stretched his body with excitement. He had never left the City of London, let alone the glorious Great Britain. He didn’t know it would feel so _liberating_ when he was finally able to walk on foreign land. Though of course, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do once he got there. He depended on Logan to guide them along their travel. Virgil didn’t speak French after all.

“I really didn’t think things through before,” Logan said to himself, though loud enough for Virgil to hear him.

“What does that mean, smarty?” Virgil asked with an anxious frown. “You’re not making me feel very good right now.”

“I ran out of money,” Logan said as he went through his bag and wallet for extra money. “How did I not think this through before?”

“I’ll get some.”

“No, Virgi—and, he’s gone.”

It had been quite a long journey for them, nearly seven hours on the sea. Fortunately, neither of them was sea sick. The sun had long gone to sleep, the lights replaced by street lamps. Logan looked around, seeing no trace of the oversized coat Virgil wore. He moved deeper inland, trying to find his mischievous companion. There was a market near the shore. There were stacks of crates and fruits everywhere he looked. It was quite different than the market in London. This one seemed to be more organized. Logan was pushed by the cluster of people exiting the ship, so he was forced to move even deeper inland without Virgil. Once he was out of the crowd, he turned his back only for his elbows to accidentally jab a man.

“Oh, _je m'excuse,_ ” he said carefully in apology. He bit his cheek lightly, not liking how his French sounded. During his years in school, he had learned many languages. Luckily, French was one of them. “I did not see you there before. Do excuse me.”

“It’s alright,” the man replied casually. He wore a simple white tunic and dark pants, though something about him seemed out of place.

“And while I am here, have you seen a man with a dark-purple coat, messy clothes and dirty shoes?” Logan acquired the man. “He’s my travelling companion.”

“You mean that one?” It was another man who answered. Half his face was covered with a cloth tied behind his head. _‘Odd,’_ Logan thought.

Logan followed the man’s gaze, finally spotting Virgil on the side of the street. It was too crowded for him to walk over, so he waved his arm to gain Virgil’s attention. The little thief walked over, showing Logan his hands.

“Scored some,” he said with a smirk, not noticing the two men looking at him with confusion and intrigue. “Go buy the tickets now.”

“ _Où allez-vous?_ ” one of the men asked to Virgil’s confusion. He had forgotten he will have to speak an entirely different tongue in France. The man lowered the cloth covering his face. “We might be able to help.”

“Well,” Logan started hesitantly, “we’re sailing to America. Would you have any information on which ship we will have to board?”

“I have good news for you, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back with another update! This is the first chapter in the second phase of the story. So, now we know that four of our six misfits have found each other. The only thing to do is for them to reach an agreement. Tricky, isn't it? Theories are welcomed in here. Question time for you, dearest readers:
> 
> 1\. Baylen would have to persuade Logan and Virgil to join his crew, so how will Remy react to that considering his hesitance to join Baylen in the first place?  
> 2\. And since Baylen and Virgil couldn't quite understand each other yet, how will that go down?
> 
> \---  
> Frenchy French time:  
> je m'excuse  
> [I'm sorry; my apology]
> 
> Où allez-vous(?)  
> [where are you going/heading(?)]


	9. Caution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman and Patton finally stepped out of the desert. It won't be long until they reach the coast.  
> Baylen, Remy, Logan and Virgil tried to come into an agreement.

**United States, 1860**

It had been days after their odd evening in the unnamed town, warned of murders. The following morning, they rode quickly away from the town and never looked back. The last few days had been similar to the days before; uneventful under the scorching heat. Fortunately, midday had passed behind them as the evening approached. As the sun sinks lower, they entered  a foreign land. The dry soil of the desert no longer crunch under their feet. Instead, they would see the occasional shrub and bush. And soon, they encounter rows of trees and greeneries. The desert was no longer their travelling companion.

Patton sat on the saddle with his ever-present smile—at least it appeared ever-present to Roman. Perhaps he just has a generally kind appearance. The air felt different—cool and a tad heavier. It was still bright when they entered another town, this one much bigger than the last and surely more crowded. A wooden gateway guarded the town with a big sign, _Buxcastle._ The town was bustling with sounds and movements.

“Excuse me!” A man shouted as he walked past them quickly with a thick rug rolled on his shoulder.

“Comin’ through!” A young woman followed with two big boxes of what looked to be loaves of bread. “Flynn, slow down, would you?”

“Be quick, Mr. Crowley isn’t as patient as he was five years ago!”

Without hesitance, Patton followed the two from his ride, leaving Roman to trail along. He would need to acquire some small information.

“Hey fellas,” Patton greeted. The two strangers jumped in surprise. The girl looked at the rider with wide, bewildered eyes, while the boy pressed his lips thin. “Might need ta ask a question from y’all.”

“Um…” The girl hummed, glancing at her companion who rolled his eyes. “Be quick, we’re in a hurry.”

“Well, how far are we from the coast?”

“Five days. A week at most with your horse,” the boy answered quickly. “Sorry, we have to go now. Come along, Lev, we don’t got much time.”

“Thank you!” Patton shouted as the two strangers continued their way. Quite rude of them not to smile or even say hello, but it was no problem at all for dear ol’ Patton. He rode back, catching Roman’s fatigued look. “Ya wanna ride the mare now, pal?”

“I will be fine, Patton,” Roman said with bravado, puffing out his chest dramatically. “A march such as this is not a hassle for me. The military was a lot harsher with me.”

Patton only smiled, hiding his own exhaustion behind a cheery exterior. They walked through the town, neither feeling any sense of rush or the need to get to their destination in a hurry. It was busy in the town, especially when they reached the market place. There were crates of produce everywhere they looked—rarely any kind of meat. It was a refreshing sight after weeks of sweltering desert. They were finally walking on damp soil, fertile enough to grow food—or any kind of plants for that matter.

The wind was cool over their warm, sweaty skin. There was a fountain, grey stone with some part covered in green moss and algae. Still, it was a beautiful sight to see so much water in one place after having to befriend the desert. Orchard dipped her head into the fountain, taking a drink of the cold water. The children who ran pass them giggled and laughed at the mare. Patton gave them a smile while Roman charmed them with his chiseled jaw and quick winks. It took them another hour to reach the other side of town, dodging past people who were walking and running here and there.

“What would you say about that _little_ warning we were given, Patton?” Roman asked as a random thought crossed his mind. “The murders, I meant.”

“Ah, those…” Patton trailed off. He had tried to forget that odd conversation in the small unnamed town. It was a shame Roman brought it up. Though perhaps he needed the reminder to stay on guard. “I dunno, ta be ‘onest.”

“Don’t you worry. If danger was to come, I would defend _both_ of us.”

Patton gave a small huff of amusement but made no other comment. They walked some distance away from the town, but not too far. The presence of other people around them was comforting, especially with the dangerous threat they might be faced with. This was not a friendly environment, no matter how beautiful the evening sky looks or how the wind carried with it the slightest smell of flowers. There were too many things for them to be cautious about that they couldn’t stop to enjoy the graceful evening.

He could still remember the way his guns move and jolt in his hand every time he shoots. He used to go to the fields with his sisters, play shooting with their father’s empty glass bottles that were filled with whiskey not too long before they were shattered with sharp bullets. The last time he fired his guns, though, did not end too well. It was not a good move, nor was the whole day a pleasant memory in Patton’s mind. Guilt had been haunting him ever since he galloped away into the sunset never to return.

They sat with a fire under a massive tree—one they hadn’t seen during their travel. Roman was no stranger to killings, murders. It was not a friendly or agreeable thought. It had been one of the reasons why he left. In fact, he had left for many reasons. The army, while welcoming at first, was not something appealing to Roman anymore. Not after he saw how the army treated those they claim to serve. He had been young and naive to ever think it was an altruistic role to serve the military. Surely it is, but he could see his country only wanted things for themselves—raid and pillage for the betterment of their own and leave the barren land to suffer.

“We need ta sleep, pal.” Patton’s voice broke through the night. They could still hear the soft murmur of the town a distance away. “It’s not too late yet, but we might need ta pick up pace, ya know what I mean?”

“Surely I do. Good night to you, then, dear rider.”

“And to ya, soldier.”

 

* * *

 

**France, 1860**

Baylen paid attention to the details of the man standing before him. His dark blue coat and his black hat were neat, and his dark leather briefcase looked well taken care of. This man is very obviously someone with a true purpose. An intellectual he was, with his dark hair peeking through his hat and framed eyes. His companion, though, was not as impressive-looking. He was small and scrawny, pale as the moon though not as friendly looking—he looked pale even in the darkness of nighttime. There were traces of dirt and mud on his torn trousers and tunic visible even in the shadows. The thin shoes he wore had seen better days. The dark coat was the only thing presentable.

He thought things through in lightning speed. He had planned to trick Remy into joining him so he could secretly return the nosy nobleman to the noble family and collect his rewards. Seventy thousand Lira was not something he could pass up easily. Yet, while his mind long for that flowing gold, his heart shouted at him at the premise of going to America. There was one thing he was still looking for—one thing he won’t give up even after nine years of failed attempts. Yes, this one was closer to heart. He was torn.

“What news could you possibly offer us?” the glasses-clad man asked. This man speaks with an air of superiority, though with no trace of arrogance or condescendence.

“I have a ship myself and am the captain,” Baylen answered with a _seemingly_ genuine smile—though Remy knew better. “And coincidentally, we were planning to sail to America just as the dawn greets us in nine hours.”

“Actua—” Remy hadn’t had the chance to utter a word before he was interrupted by the captain. He sent a small glare to Baylen only to be ignored.

“Our ship is fairly quick. It would be four weeks of a shorter trip than most of the bigger ships.”

“That does sound rather appealing,” the intellectual said again with a raise of an eyebrow. The man’s companion had been silent, not uttering a single word. In fact, he looked rather lost.

“It does? Why, thank you. I also offer a cheaper price, unlike those corporates and shipping vessels.” Baylen smirked, knowing his trick was working well. Having this man in his ship would be highly beneficial. Having more brains in the ship would be better—although there was a big chance this man won’t cooperative. As for the dirty companion, he didn’t look useful at all. “I do try to be reasonable for pricing.”

“Would you introduce yourself?” Remy asked quickly before Baylen had any chance to interrupt him. “I am Remedio Arlotti. Just Remy is easier.”

“I am Logan Kosko, and this is Virgil.”

Logan was starting to doubt the captain’s claims. The deal he was proposed seemed a little too good to be true. How could a ship that moves faster demand _less_ pay? It did not make logical sense.

“What vessel do you own exactly?” Logan was gaining some confidence with his French. He merely needed a little push to get his linguistic muscles to come alive again after so long out of practice.

“It’s a private ship,” the captain answered. “I do not take passengers too often, but on some occasions such as now—when many are looking to travel—I do offer for a few to come aboard.”

“Where did you two come from?” Remy interrupted the conversation. The question seemed out of place to Logan, but he didn’t mind answering.

“Virgil here is English. I am Greek.”

“In that case,” Remy said with a deadly tone as he sent the captain a glare, “ _think twice about your options._ ”

It was a surprise when Remy blurted out in English—not only to the captain, but also to Logan and especially to Virgil. The little delinquent had been harboring suspicions on the captain despite not understanding the conversation. The way he spoke and move was unsettling. There was a certain glint in his eyes Virgil noticed, and it told him of danger. He had dealt enough with dangerous men in his early life, enough to know how to differentiate those who intended to be good and those who are bad.

“What do you mean?” Virgil asked hesitantly, feeling out of place when he suddenly could understand.

“Well, he’s—”

“ _Attendez un moment,_ ” the captain almost shouted. “ _Qu'est-ce qui se passe?_ ”

“Bay—” Remy was interrupted again.

“No, what are you doing?” The captain lowered his voice, speaking to the nobleman with alarm.

“What are _you_ doing?” The nobleman asked in retort. “I am not letting you—”

“Gentlemen,” Logan acquired, cutting off the argument, “may ask what is the matter?”

The noble and the captain froze. Remy could not live with himself knowing he could save two people from a trick—a _dangerous_ trick—the captain is playing. He knew he could do the right thing and have these two strangers walk away from Baylen’s clutches. At the same time, he didn’t want to be alone. On Baylen’s ship, he would feel like a captive, being deceived and used. If he could have one or two companions, it wouldn’t be too bad. _‘But that’s selfish!’_ he thought, trying not to claw at his own scalp. He gave himself an internal sigh, letting Baylen win.

“I apologize,” the captain said as he cleared his throat. “It was merely a small misunderstanding.”

“Hey, Logan… I don’t know if this one can understand me,” Virgil spoke up with unease and malice, “but I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t even understand what he is saying, Virgil.”

“True, but the way he speaks does not sound trustworthy to me.”

“Let me stop whatever it is you are saying,” the captain interrupted yet again. “I assure you everything is fine, and on that note, this is the last time I am going to offer you my ship.”

Logan turned to the little thief standing next to him. Virgil was looking at him like a child who was going to let out a temper tantrum. And in all honesty, Logan felt pity for him. He looked like he was barely an adult—a child who was forced to grow up too quickly. Of course Logan understood Virgil’s concerns, but there was no other choice he could see. He looked down on the crumpled money Virgil gave him from his thieving.

“Listen, Virgil, you know what this money is, correct?”

“I am not an idiot, _smarty!_ I know what money is.”

“That is not what I mean. You took Pound Sterlings. We are in France, and Pounds do not work here.”

“I can try again.” Virgil stepped away, ready for another steal. He was stopped by a strong grip on his collar. He really was no match to Logan’s surprising strength. “Let me go.”

“Virgil, that is enough.”

“Alright,” the thief said with contained anger and frustration. “When the worst thing comes, you will regret not listening to me.”

“Are you _really_ sure of your decision?” Remy asked after being mute the whole time. He hid his internal conflict well. After all, he’d had enough practice of hiding within himself when he was at home. “Think again.”

“I am not sure if you _want_ us to join you or not.” Logan furrowed his brows.

“That is not at all what I meant. I only wanted you to be sure.” Remy ignored Baylen’s light kick on his leg.

After much thought, Logan decided it was right to join the captain—though with hesitance. The whole exchange had been promising and quickly turned confusing which became suspicious at the end. But Logan was desperate. There was no other way, and he surely couldn’t go back the way he came. The idea of stepping into the _New World_ was something he couldn’t pass up. He couldn’t lose anything else, so he will have to try no matter how difficult.

Virgil was more reluctant. He almost suggested that he’d be left alone while Logan boards the suspicious captain’s ship. Though without Logan, he was a little lost. He knew nothing of foreign travels. It was true that he’d only known Logan for _one day,_ but the man was not too unpleasant albeit a little too talkative at times. He didn’t want to admit he was dependant on Logan, but it was the truth. He gave a sigh as he finally agreed with much concern. Perhaps excessive concern, but perhaps not.

As the four walked to the boat, Remy almost shouted in frustration and guilt. He felt something burning in his chest that he so desperately wanted to claw out, but couldn’t. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to spend four weeks entirely alone as the captain’s captive toy. He needed someone, and knew this was not the way. He couldn’t see any other option. Remy clenched his fists tightly, willing his misty eyes to dry. This was not right. None of it was. Yet, he couldn’t let out a single noise other than an almost-inaudible squeak. He could see the captain’s mischievous smile. This was a trap, he knew, set up to catch new prey. There was nothing he could have done. At least that’s what he let himself believe.

As they climbed into the boat, René and Collette looked at the two new additions in bewilderment. It was lucky Baylen didn’t forget about the fruits at all—they settled with buying plums and apples.

“What are you up to?” René asked the captain in a whisper. “This isn’t right, Bay.”

“And us being pirates is right? Stop being so naive. You know nothing is fair.”

“We didn’t have a _choice._ You know how _you_ become the way your are.” René scrunched their forehead in anger. “Did you actually _want_ things to go the way they did?”

“That’s enough, you two.” Collette squished herself in between her two friends. “Honestly, I don’t care whatever you’re doing, Bay. I only worry because you’re going to bring all of us into your game.”

“No, no!” René’s whispers were starting to gain volume, though no one aside from their friends heard. “You don’t understa—this is _not_ honest work.”

“And raiding merchant ships is an honest work to you?” Baylen challenged, his arm not forgetting its task to row the boat farther into the sea.

“I—”

“I know we didn’t _choose_ to be here,” Baylen said with a gentleness so rare. “But we have to survive. And _this_ is how we do it.”

The boat was quiet after that. The three pirates were stuck in the memory of their unwanted past. It was lucky the three of them had found each other. If not, who knew what would have happened to them.

The stars hid that night, covered by thick clouds. Slowly, the firelit windows of the captain’s cabin on the ship became more visible. And soon, the entire ship was revealed from the cloak of darkness as they drew nearer. Virgil, who had been quietly sulking in his head, stared in awe at the ship. It didn’t look as beautiful as the ship which sailed him from Britain to France, but it was impressive all the same. It looked clean enough, though the outer wood was not as sleek. He was taken out of the moment when he saw the name imprinted on the side of the ship. _Le Destin Doré._ Surely he’d heard of that somewhere. He tried digging up his memories. Perhaps he knew something he didn’t know he did.

Something clicked in his head.

The sudden laughter spilling out of Virgil’s tiny frame was a surprise to everyone. It was not a laughter of amusement or joy—that much was clear. His hoot of laughter sounded almost menacing. Hostile. He stopped his laughter abruptly before everything fell silent. Virgil shifted on the boat, his gaze boring into Baylen’s eye.

“Logan, remember when I told you I used to steal from merchants?” His gaze never left the captain, only sharpening with every passing second.

“Uhm… uh, yes.” Logan’s answered was hurried and unsure. He could not deny the fact that Virgil looked almost demonic with the hard expression of anger on his face. “Are you quite alright, Virgil?”

“So, you’re the captain aren’t you?” Virgil ignored Logan’s question. His voice was laced with _deadly_ sarcasm, as if each word dripped with venom of anger and animosity. “I don’t think I caught your name. But that won’t be necessary, because I know your name.”

“Uh… what is happening?” Remy whispered to Logan who answered with a shake of his head.

“In Britain, merchants discuss their shipping routes for two things.” Virgil did not at all sounded like himself. “One, to see which route is the cheapest and most efficient. And two… _to avoid your pirate ship, you bastard!_ ”

“I really did not expect this to happen,” Remy whispered again casually.

“You’re a pirate?” Logan asked Remy in confusion and anger. Virgil was letting his wrath known to the three pirates.

“I’m not a pirate,” Remy answered. “But the others are. I was deceived.”

“Your name, Captain _Baylen Delacroix,_ is known to be a bad news!” The words were said through gritted teeth and clenched fists that even when the pirates didn’t understand Virgil’s words, they were still intimidated. “However it is you pronounce your name, I don't care! You _bellend._ ”

 

* * *

 

**United States, 1860**

_“Find a man with the name of Luciano D’amico. He was my apprentice back when he was younger.”_ He remembered the master’s words before he left. _“I sent him to the New World years ago. He leads our team there, called the Black Rose. Find it and find_ him. _He will tell you what to do. Do well, boy. Find_ him. _”_

He stood in front of a big garage, painted dark green like moss. According to the letter he was given by his master, this was the address he was supposed to go to. Hesitantly, he knocked on the metal door. The sound of clanging metal rang through the space inside, clattering and echoing horrendously.

“Coming!” Came a gruff voice from inside.

When the door rolled opened, he was faced with a massive man. He wore a suit on top of a black shirt. His chest was wide—and really, everything about him was wide.

“ _To whom does the red crow answer?_ ”

“ _To the Black Rose it shall give, and turn the red dark._ ”

The man gave him a smirk. His eyes were a cold void of nothingness.

“I have been waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a legit excuse on why I'm late this time. I was on vacation with my family and had very little time to write. The only time I had to write was somewhere between one in the morning to six in the morning, so I couldn't do that. I am very sorry. But that being said, I am now back with a new chapter! Hope you liked it. Things escalated a bit in this chapter.
> 
> 1\. How do you think the four will get along on Baylen's ship? Or will the ship be left in ruins by the time they reach America?  
> 2\. What are your thoughts on Roman and Patton? These characters are just so difficult to write. Remy, too, actually. It seems the sassy and dramatic characters don't fit into the 1860s setting, but I'm trying!  
> 3\. As you might guess, all three of our darling pirates have a hard past. Baylen's is out main concern, but would you like to learn about all three of them? What are your thoughts on René and Collette?  
> 4\. Meet the villain.
> 
> Frenchy french time!! (correct me if I'm wrong):  
> Attendez un moment  
> [Wait a moment]
> 
> Qu'est-ce qui se passe(?)  
> [What is happening(?)]
> 
> See ya in the next one!


	10. Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman and Patton are faced with dangers when they entered a new land.  
> Baylen gave Remy and Logan a bargain in return to a sail on his ship without pay. Virgil disagreed.

**United States, 1860**

They could smell the ocean and hear the squawks of birds in the distance. It was true they couldn’t see the ocean just yet, but they were close. Patton had suggested for them to walk all the way to the water. However, Roman was too tired to walk anywhere else. Patton had thought a soldier would have a lot more endurance. Though given the little amount of food and water they had, exhaustion always comes early. The darkness of twilight cocooned them in a comforting ambiance.

“We’re here now,” Patton said with excitement written clearly across his expression. “Few hours away from tha coast, we are.”

“It’s exciting!” Roman exclaimed through his exhaustion. “Imagine the things we could do! The _adventures_ we can have!”

“Adventures? Thas bit much, but I get whatcha mean.”

“All amusement and entertainment aside, we shall find a job first if we ever want to live, dear Patton.”

Patton gave him an enthusiastic nod. Truthfully, the prospect of finding a job isn’t too appealing to Roman, but he will have to make do. They set up camp on the side of a winding path by a field. Their camp faced east, so they could enjoy the sunrise when it comes tomorrow morning. Behind them was a dark forest with towering trees. For now, they will stay in the camp for a few days—perhaps even a few weeks—until they find a job.

Just as their campfire started, Patton heard a loud rustling behind him. He whipped his head back, alerting Roman. There were more rustles and dull steps. The darkness covered their surroundings; the campfire was the only thing giving them vision into the shadows. Then came another dull step until they could see faces coming out of the cover of the dusk. There were eight of them. They were dressed heavily and weapons were held steady in each of their hands. Patton placed his hands on the two guns by his side and Roman readied his fists.

“What have you come to do?” Roman asked cautiously. He knew it was a laughable question, but he needed to stall. “We do not have anything to give you, gentlemen.”

“Really?” a voice rasped. Neither Roman nor Patton knew from which men the voice came from. “We’ll see ‘bout that, boy.”

“Roman,” Patton whispered with urgency. “What do we do now?”

“The fight,” Roman said with a smirk and confidence in his voice, “begins!”

He flung himself forward, hands flying to the necks of the bandits two at a time. With force, he bashed their skulls together. Though a bit distracted, the bandits were still on their feet. Another one came at him. Handling three at once shouldn’t be too difficult. He seized an arm and knocked the knife the bandit held. He pulled the bandit closer before using his momentum to throw the hooligan at another man. Two down at once, he kicked at their crotches. Roman took one bandit’s head by the hair and rammed him against a tree behind the camp ground.

Behind him, Patton was struggling with two bandits. One of the criminals had their knife against Patton’s neck while another was ready to kick the rider brutally. Before the bandit had a chance, Patton had pulled out a gun and fired into the dark.

“You missed!” The bandit shouted in victory.

“Huh…” Patton feigned confusion with a confident look in his eyes. “I don’t usually miss.”

A thundering thud came storming at them and Orchard the mare launched herself at two of the men at once. Patton elbowed the distracted bandit who had a knife to his throat with a quiet laugh. It seemed Patton had shot the rope tying Orchard onto a tree. He peered down at the men, groaning in pain—one with a broken arm.

“And I _won’t_ ever miss a shot.”

The bandits who Roman had taken down rose back up, though not as strong as they were before. With three of them down, the duo still had to handle five of these raiders. Roman easily gave a high kick to a bandit’s head. Patton flinched in surprise and amazement. Four more. The fight paused for a moment. The four bandits stared menacingly at the duo. One of the crooks took a throwing knife from his belt and threw at Orchard’s feet. The mare went running into the night.

“Orchard!” Patton shouted.

Roman launched himself again, taking the gunman’s arm with force and twisted it behind his back. The man cried in pain. Another charged at Roman. Patton stood frozen as two of the remaining crooks charged at him. His gun felt heavy in his hand—it shook in his trembling grip. He couldn’t raise the gun, not even to defend himself. He could hear Roman’s shouts as the soldier took on the two men charging at him. And yet, Patton felt like he was trapped.

_‘Bad, bad, bad!’_

The bandits tackled him down, punching at his face, neck and torso. He held his arms to shield himself from the attacks. He struggled, griping at one of the bandits’ tunics and shoving him away, but the crook came back for more. He kicked and punched without direction.

“Let me go!” He shouted desperately.

“Patton, use your gun!” he heard Roman called.

_‘No! Not the gun! No!’_

Roman saw as Patton went down with force. He took his attacker by the back of the collar and kicked them by the knee. The bandit was pushed to the ground, but not enough for him to surrender. Another man came charging with a large knife aimed at Roman’s abdomen. He dodged the attack, taking the man’s arm and slamming it against Roman’s own thigh. A sickening crack echoed as the man fell limp with a broken bone, knife abandoned. The other bandit was much bigger—his size may even rival the soldier’s strong and muscular features. A giant against a giant. They collided with force as Roman gave a solid punch to the hooligan’s chest. He was met with a punch to the jaw.

Patton’s gun fell from his hand uselessly as he kept struggling against the punches thrown at him. At this point, getting up wasn’t an option, but at least he had to stay alive. He could feel the sharp rocks digging at his back. He knew he could reach his other gun, still tucked securely in its holster, but he couldn’t.

 

_“Patton, run away! They’re going to find you!”_

_“No! I’m not leaving you.”_

 

_“They’re coming. Remember what you learned!”_

_“I don’t want this.”_

 

_“Use your gun! Patton, shoot, now!”_

_A sharp booming sound and a clatter. What has he done, what has he done, what has he done?! He must run. Run, run, run like there is no tomorrow. Get away! Murderer!_

_“You have to go…”_

 

“Patton, shoot! Use your gun! Patton!” Roman shouted in frustration and urgency. He couldn’t hold back the massive crook anymore as his back was pushed against a tree. His feet desperately tried to take a step back as a giant knife was pressed so dangerously close to his throat. “Patton, _now!_ ”

“Let me go! It wasn’t my fault!” Patton cried, still shielding himself from incoming attacks.

Roman struggled still, the knife edging closer to his skin. He saw a small gap, landing a sudden punch under the bandit’s chin making him staggered back. Roman used all his might to land a tough blow to the bandit’s cheek. He spun, then an elbow against the bandit’s sternum. He spun back around, another punch to the chin and another to the nose. He kicked, and the bandit fell flat on his back.

The soldier ran over to his friend with the bandit’s knife. He ripped one attacker away, slashing at their arm and thigh. The crook flinched in pain with a loud cry. Roman kicked and missed.

“Patton, the gun!” Roman roared again. No respond.

Patton still struggled with the other attacker, seemingly trapped in his own head. Roman will have to do this alone. With the knife in his hand, he charged again. The bandit and the soldier dueled, their movements in sync like two dancers in rhythm of a dangerous waltz. One attack and a dodge. Another attack and another dodge. Why hadn’t Patton shot yet? Roman saw an opening and landed a punch—a weak one. Frustration was eating at him as anger boiled in his chest. He ran back to where Patton lied with another bandit punching at the rider. 

Roman took the gun from Patton’s holster and shoot.

Now, Roman was not as good a shot as Patton, but he sure was more used to violence and blood—especially with his job in the military. He stood his ground as both bandits who still remained frozen in their spots. Patton’s attacker pulled back his punch, expecting something to come after the gunshot was heard. He looked behind his back as his bandit friend fell with a bullet wound to the stomach. Roman pointed the muzzle at the lone bandit’s head who quivered in fear under the soldier’s gaze.

His voice calm and steady as he said, simply, “scram.”

With that, the bandit ran over to his fallen companions and dragged those he could before fleeing into the shadows. Roman walked over to his rider friend who still laid half-conscious on the ground. He dropped the gun by Patton’s head and walked away. He gathered the fallen bodies of the thugs, leaned them against a tree and tying them with Orchard’s loose rope. He walked back to his friend, tapping lightly at Patton’s cheeks.

“Hey, Patton!” Roman said sternly with a frown. “Get up.”

Patton opened his eyes groggily. He saw the soldier hovering above him as he sat up. He winced when he felt the sore bruise on his stomach. Roman was drenched in sweat. He could see a mar under Roman’s jaw and a gash on the side of his waist. Patton himself had numerous bruises on his chest, arms and temple. He could taste the coppery tang of blood in his tongue from the cut on his lip.

“Why didn’t you defend yourself?” Roman asked with grated nerves from where he sat near the dying amber of the campfire. He tossed a few thick logs to reawaken the fire. “You had the chance.”

“You—I… couldn’t.”

“Why not?!” Roman almost shouted. “You could have gotten us killed. You could’ve done something, Patton!”

“Roman, you don’t understand.”

“What do I _not_ understand other than the fact that you were afraid?!”

Roman’s question hung in the air and left unanswered. Patton stared back at Roman’s battered, angry expression with guilt swimming in his eyes. He shifted his gaze to the remaining bandits, now unconscious and tied to a tree. Giving a long sigh, he stood up shakily on stiff muscles and waddled closer to the fire.

“We should have a rest now…”

Roman only answered with a huff. Patton gave another sigh—mostly to himself. He caught the bandage Roman threw at him as the soldier stood up.

“Stay here,” the soldier uttered. He took his canteen from his military-issue rucksack. “I’ll find some water.”

Patton only stared at Roman’s back with remorse and shame as he walked farther away. He best gets some needed rest after this.

 

* * *

 

**France, 1860**

“I—uh, what is happening?” Baylen cornered himself at the back of the small boat. Virgil’s murderous gaze felt like it was slowly tearing at his chest. “You—”

“What he was saying, captain,” Logan said, leveling Baylen with a stern gaze, “is that you have _shamefully_ tricked us.”

“I—oh, goodness,” the captain responded with a smirk. He looked at Remy with a mischievous glint in his expression. “This little boy recognizes I’m a pirate quicker than you? Oh, now _that’s_ clever.”

“Shut your mouth, would you?” René gave a light punch to Baylen’s side. “I’m _very_ sorry. In truth, I did not know of Baylen’s plan to bring you aboard our ship.”

“But that being said,” Baylen interjected, “I do not mean any harm to invite you to our ship.”

“And you are welcome to do as you see fit,” René said again. They gave Baylen a warning glance. “You may leave if that’s what you want.”

“Uhm, actually—”

“That is enough, you two. Don’t act like children!” Collette gave a harsh push on her friends’ chests, startling them. She gave the others a surprisingly welcoming smile. “And as for all of you—you, too, Remy—we will have this discussion on the ship and not in this flimsy boat.”

As soon as a rope ladder was lowered onto the boat, they climbed into the ship. Virgil retreated into his head in fury. He shouldn’t have gone here. He shouldn’t have left London where it was safe and _familiar._ Yet, at the same time he _needed_ a new life so desperately. He still remembered how it was the first time he stole. It had felt _so wrong._ So, he accepted the punishment he was given by angry shop owners and vendors for his crimes. He had let them land their blows and insults—let him know how much he was despised and what a nuisance he was. It had been eight years since then, though he could never manage to fill the gaping hole inside him. Now, he could only fill it with things he could feel—seething anger.

“Ay, what you reckon is happening?” A scrawny pirate asked. His red shawl tied around his thin waist danced in the wind.

“No clue, I have,” another answered. “You know the captain always gets in trouble.”

They were standing on the open deck in the warm light of a few torches lit here and there. Virgil kept close to where Logan stood—though he was still upset with the scientist for not listening to him. Perhaps it was his tired and suspicious mind playing a trick on him, which made the captain’s every move seem malicious—as if he was hiding something.

_‘How could I let myself be fooled again? Haven’t I learned enough?’_ Virgil scolded himself. It isn’t fair misfortune always falls on him.

Logan looked behind him to where Virgil stood with a severe scowl. Perhaps he should have taken Virgil’s warning earlier into a count. It was such a shame that he made a mistake. A mistake is a reminder of his failings. A mistake is a reminder of his shortcomings. No, he did _not_ make a mistake. It was merely something that had slipped his mind. On the other side, Remy stood with a slight scrunch of his forehead. Remy had not told him who he is, or what his intentions were, but Logan trusted him more than the captain.

“Virgil,” Logan called in a low voice. “Since you will not understand this discussion, would it be alright if the captain and I had our conversation in private? I assure you this will all turn out just fine.”

The delinquent clenched his fists on his sides. He may not have been the most intelligent of people, but it did not mean he has nothing useful to contribute. He huffed, not bothering to argue. He wouldn’t be heard anyway. Virgil gave a curt nod, turning away to lean against the railing of the ship, staring out to the water. He stared bitterly at the dark silhouette in the water below. How upsetting that the coat he stole was purple instead of the preferred black. No matter, it was dark enough for Virgil to match his mood. Next to his reflection, appeared another one.

“So, you’re obviously upset.”

Virgil whipped his head to his side to find a pirate standing next to him. He’d heard of her name—Collette Bonheur, the only female pirate in Baylen’s crew. The pirate stood with her usual confidence with her thick, chocolate braid lying gently on her shoulder. Her dark eyes seemed even darker in the night, but the orange light of fire gave a softness to her shadows. There was something familiar about her look.

“Violette…” Virgil whispered to himself, squinting his eyes as he looked at the pirate.

“Pardon?”

“Uh, nothing!” Virgil shook himself from his thought. “You… speak my language?”

“My mother was British,” Collette answered simply. “I grew up in France, however. I haven’t spoken this tongue in years.”

And it was apparent she hadn’t spoken the language for some time. Her French accent was clearly present when she spoke. Virgil hardened his face once again, facing back to the reflection in the water. Something stirred at the back of his mind. Violette. He hadn’t thought of her in so long.

“What do you want?” Virgil asked harshly with an accusing tone. “Come to trick me again?”

“I didn’t do that. Baylen did.”

“Same thing…” Virgil mumbled, mostly to himself.

“Now, tell me your name.”

“Why are you being—being kind? It won’t convince me to stay in this _pirate_ ship. I would much rather drown myself than sail in this cursed ship.” Virgil was spilling with fury. His voice then lowered to a near-whisper. “That would have a much better ending for me anyway.”

“I know it’s confusing and infuriating,” Collette sighed. “You know, this is more of René’s specialty when it comes to people. I don’t speak well. In fact, they are watching us right now.”

Virgil followed Collette’s gaze, and sure enough René was looking at them from the landing above the captain’s cabin. The pirate made their way down and joined them by the side of the ship.

“ _Salut,_ ” René said shortly, dipping their head in greeting. They leaned against the railing next to Collette. The two made brief eye-contact, not saying a thing, before finally looking away from each other.

 

* * *

 

The door to the cabin fell shut. The captain walked to his bed, sitting with a nonchalant air as if he didn’t care about a single thing. He sat, gesturing an empty chair for either Remy or Logan to take. They ignored him.

“So, you two have any concerns?”

“Oh goodness,” Remy said with a glare. “You tricked us with your lies, and you still have the audacity to be an idiot and ask if we have concerns.”

“Alright.” Baylen crossed his arms on his chest. “Let me assure you that everything is going to be fine. There is nothing for you to worry about.”

“Uhm, _excuse me,_ ” Remy tilted his head to one side with a hand on his hip, “I thought you yourself said you cannot be trusted. Why should I take your words now?”

“I did _not_ say that,” Baylen said with mock-outrage.

“You—stop lying!”

“Before this escalates,” Logan interjected the argument, “shall we get back to the matter at hand?”

“Right,” Baylen said with a small smile. “As you may know, I am Baylen Delacroix. I own this ship and am the captain myself. I will promise to sail you to America _safely._ ”

“And this is a _pirate_ ship,” Logan stated the obvious. “I cannot believe this. I am on a pirate ship. How did I get myself into this mess?”

“Believe me, I’m asking the same question as you,” Remy retorted.

“While it is true this is a pirate ship,” Baylen continued, “I will try not to put you or your travelling companion in any danger. I myself have some business in America, so I will not sabotage your travel.”

“That still does not change the fact that you _tricked_ Virgil and I into joining you, as well as the fact that you are an untrustworthy pirate.”

“Well then—Logan, was it?—Logan, what other options do you have?” Baylen gave the scientist a wide-eyed expression of challenge. The pirate didn’t seem to be bothered if in any case he made new enemies on his own ship. “You _clearly_ did not have enough money, and you have that little boy following you around. I should say it wasn’t very wise of you to travel without money. Fortunately, I demand very little pay—eighty Franc would do.”

“I don’t have that much money, captain.”

“That’s alright, you can give me no pay under one condition; you will allow me to travel with you once we reach our destination.”

“I don’t think so!” Remy almost shouted. That was the most absurd suggestion he’d ever heard. Surely, this is another one of Baylen’s jokes. Though seeing the solemn and somber look on the pirate’s face, Remy wasn’t so sure anymore. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” Baylen stood. He walked over to the book shelf, pulling two pieces of paper previously hidden amongst the tightly packed books. “You are not the only people who have an interest in the _New World._ ”

From the folds of his pants, Baylen pulled his eye-patch and replaced the white cloth which covered his eye with it. With the eye-patch now in place, Baylen looked more threatening and ominous. He looked older, too. He walked to the door, opening it quickly.

“Make your decision,” he said, turning to walk outside. “I will be waiting.”

The captain wasn't so sure of himself as he let on. He still had with him the two papers he took. One was a map—one he brought everywhere he went. Baylen walked past René and Collette who were still standing against the railing of the ship with Virgil. He climbed the rope ladder until his feet hit the landing of the crow’s nest.

“Jordan,” Baylen greeted the young pirate who was on guard duty. “Go down and have something to eat. I’ll take over for now.”

“Yes, captain.”

With that, the captain was left alone. From there, he could see René and Collette still standing below. It was lucky for him to find them. Without them, he thought he wouldn’t have lived as long as he did. He couldn’t help the small huff of laughter that escaped him when he saw how those friends of his stolen glances from each other. He had not said anything about it for years, but it was getting too much. He tucked the map in his hand into the deep pocket of his pants. 

The other paper was a photograph. He took a deep breath, pressing the photograph close to his chest. He looked at it once again. That time, his neighbor had just come home from the city with a camera. She had asked if she could take a few snaps here and there. This one was his favorite. There sat a man with a loose shirt and tight pants, complete with suspenders. The man had heavy boots on, as any fisherman would have. Behind him was a woman, her long hair cast to the side in a long plait. A boy sat next to his father with his much younger sister sitting on his lap. She looked up at her brother’s face with such joy that you could feel her laughter.

Baylen had forgotten how happy he truly was when he was home. Back then, all he did all day was play on the beach with his little sister, waiting weeks after weeks for his father to come home. After a month, father would be back, and they would go flying into his arms.

“What are you doing?” Baylen’s moment of silence was broken with René now standing on the ladder, peering into the nest. “We’ve been calling you from down there.”

“Sorry.” Baylen hid the photograph behind his back. “I’ll be down now.”

The two climbed down the rope onto the deck. Logan and Remy was having a small conversation with Virgil standing between them, listening. He approached them, giving a questioning look.

“Ah, captain,” Logan greeted—a little unnecessarily. “We have come to a decision.”

“Let it be known I agree to none of this,” Virgil grumbled, walking away.

“We will be joining you.” Logan ignored Virgil’s complaints—though he did have to admit the thief had a great instinct when it comes to danger. “We do not have another option, and it seemed you were genuine with your offer. So, I will take it while the offer still stands.”

“Very good, then!” Baylen clapped his hands together. “We shall set sail as soon as the sun arrives.”

 

* * *

 

**The Middle of Atlantic, 2 weeks later**

“I cannot handle them anymore,” René dragged a hand down their face. “Do they _really_ have to argue about the littlest possible things?”

“You tried your best,” Collette answered with a teasing smile. “You can’t fix everything.”

Down in the crew’s quarters, René and Collette can hide from the chaos happening up on the deck. They could hear thuds, but nothing else. Upstairs, Virgil and Baylen was having yet _another_ argument about nothing.

“You stole it!” Baylen shouted. “Where is it, you scum?! Give it back!”

Virgil shook his head, not understanding the captain’s words. Still, he wore a childish smile over his face.

“He wants his eye-patch back, Virgil,” Logan translated, his face showing exhaustion—an expression which clearly says _“I don’t care about any of this, this is all a mistake.”_

“Why would you want it back?” Virgil said to the captain, knowing well the captain will not understand him. “It _is_ true that you look undeniably hideous without it, but I think that’s just how you look in general.”

On the side, Remy sat with his back against the wall of the captain’s cabin. He wore a smile on his face as he watched the chaotic, meaningless argument unfolding before him. To Remy, this was daily entertainment—a pirate and a thief, who just so happened to not speak each other’s language, arguing about nothing translated by a scientist. This is a much better entertainment than those parties his parents would hold in the mansion back in his family home. He hooted with laughter when Baylen let out a frustrated but childish shout of outrage.

“So you admit you stole them?” Baylen pointed an accusing finger at the thief. “And just so you know, I don’t care about how I look.”

Logan rolled his eyes, walking away to sit next to the nobleman with his head propped against the wall.

“Let them argue. They don’t even understand each other.” Logan huffed, straightening his creased shirt. “Let’s see how this goes.”

Remy chuckled. He glanced at the scientist before looking back at the two men arguing.

“Why did you want to go to America, Logan?”

“For a job? Where in America, I don’t know.” Logan looked down on his hands with an empty gaze. He wasn’t sure how it will be once he stepped foot in the _New World._ He only knew he needed to find something to support him. “And you?”

“Me? Oh, don’t think about me,” Remy answered with a melancholic smile. “I was forced to do something I didn’t want to. I wanted to change that.”

They were interrupted when the shouting and arguing became too loud. Two more weeks and they will step into a new land. Two more weeks and they will find something new—a new hope. Perhaps they could start over from a clean slate in a brand-new place. No one would know them there. It could be an experience of a lifetime, but at the same time it could also be a challenge too difficult to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I didn't update last week, because I was a little occupied with stuff. So, I though I'd give you a longer chapter. Besides, I wanted to make my writings longer so the story won't have too many chapters. From this one, you can see a glimpse at Patton's, a little bit of Virgil's and Baylen's past.
> 
> 1\. What do you think of Patton? Will he and Roman be okay again or will they drift apart? - Give me some theories if you have them.  
> 2\. Virgil's past is a little more obscure, only mentioned briefly, but any thoughts? Don't worry, it will all be revealed.  
> 3\. Baylen seems like he was happy making enemies. What do you think will happen when they reach their destination? He did made a deal with them after all.
> 
> A lil' French:  
> Salut  
> [Hello; Hi (casual)]
> 
> That's it for now, until the next one! See ya!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading and I hope you liked it!
> 
> So, um, please leave a comment because your feedback means the world to me! Your comments always spur me to write more and improve so hopefully I can write even more for you wonderful readers. Plus, since I'm still a beginner writer, your feedback will be a massive help for me. Buuut, if you don't leave a comment, that's alright, too. You can also post questions in the comment section if you have any.
> 
> P.S. English isn't my first language, so there might be some mistakes scattered throughout the story. I hope you can still understand the story just fine and please point out the little mistakes, because I really need to improve.
> 
> Thank you again for reading and see you in the next one!


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